


Don't Go Where I Can't Follow

by matanee



Series: This Is Why We Breathe For [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, First Kiss, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, I Don't Even Know, I can't believe I'm writing this, M/M, Magical Bond, Mental Instability, Mutual Pining, Pining, Romance, Temporary Character Death, but mostly sticking to it, dreams and illusions, slightly twisting the canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 11:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 128,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matanee/pseuds/matanee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Some Tooks were never meant to have adventures, it seemed. And wrong was Gandalf, just as the hobbit had suspected."</i>
</p><p>Bilbo Baggins had already decided to go home after the encounter with the Storm Giants. Seems like fate has other plans for the burglar, for a magical bond is born between dwarf and hobbit, and, occasionally, unpleasant side-effects may give their journey a whole new turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Walls Start Breathing

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Every Step You Take](https://archiveofourown.org/works/454948) by [Nokomis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nokomis/pseuds/Nokomis). 



> First of all, I think it's needless to say that I don't own anything. Everything belongs to the wonderful J. R. R. Tolkien and the equally as wonderful Peter Jackson, I only used their marvellous fantasy to create this fanfiction. So, thank you to both of you, for having such amazing brains.
> 
> Secondly, I would like to thank Nokomis for the inspiration to this fanfiction. Without her story, 'Every Step You Take', I wouldn't be writing this.
> 
> Oh, and kudos to Tolkien Gateway as well, that site is my mind palace. I can't be grateful enough.
> 
> Thirdly and most importantly, I think you must know that my native language is Hungarian, so I can't guarantee that my writing/style/grammar etc. is perfect. I have my beloved Ivana to read the chapters over before I upload them, but it is unlikely that we will spot every mistake. Forgive me for them, please.
> 
> I will shut up now, I promise. Enjoy! :3

The Shire had never seemed so far like in that moment.

Big, fat tears rolled down on Bilbo Baggins' cheeks as he was curled against the wall of the cave and tried to remain as silent as possible. Not like anyone could've heard the sound of his weeping over the raging storm outside, but he really didn't need anyone to notice. To ask questions, to pity him. He was homesick, and that is all.

The hobbit closed his eyes and could see the soft, green grass, the hills and the round doors of the Shire. He breathed in the smell of flowers and trees, tasted the gust of fresh bread that just came out of the oven. He felt flavours he've never felt before in his mouth, saw colourful dots dancing behind his closed eyelids, and he could almost touch the warm wind that used to stroke his skin while he was sitting on that good, old wooden bench of his.

Almost.

For once he opened his eyes, these things were all gone. Mere illusions, though, but so real that it caused physical pain when Bilbo realised they had never existed. Leastwise, not here. Since here all the hobbit had were wet clothes, a sword (or, as Balin kindly pointed it out, a letter opener) and nothing else whatsoever. Not even his pocket-handkerchief, and it seriously overwhelmed him. The absolute lack of comfort, safety, certainty and feel of home were as bad as a dagger in his stomach. All he could do was to cry about it. Because what else could a hobbit do?

Bilbo didn't want to fall asleep, for he feared those stone giants could come back and haunt him in his dreams. Until there was the slightest chance these nightmares could ruin the memories he had of the Last Homely House, he was determined to stay awake. The elves made him forget all the misery he had to bear on this journey, and the exhaustion that followed him everywhere. He felt raw and tired, hurt when he was not even injured, and most of all, unwanted. As Thorin put it earlier, he was lost since he stepped out of his round, lovely, green door, and he had no place amongst the dwarves. He was a fish out of water, and he desperately tried to escape, to go back to the depths of the ocean, and never look back.

Some Tooks were never meant to have adventures, it seemed. And wrong was Gandalf, just as the hobbit had suspected.

The halfling didn't have to think for too long about what to do next. He had two choices. One was to stay where he was, lying on the cold, stone ground, keep crying until his eyes grew numb, and let the greater powers handle his fate.

The other was to pack and run.

Bilbo knew there was never a real choice. There was only so much a hobbit could take.

He had made sure that everyone was fast asleep before he started to pack. He rolled up his bedroll, he pulled his claret vest lower and his trousers above, then turned his backpack over his shoulder. He slowly started walking towards the cave mouth.

He was gripping Sting with whitened fingers, as he tried to make his way on the narrow path between snoring dwarves, but once or twice he felt like stumbling. He could barely avoid sitting back on Dwalin's head when his clumsy foot was caught in Gloin's bedroll, but he gained his balance back soon, and sighed with relief.

If he wasn't able to leave this place without being caught, he really didn't know what he was expecting. Rivendell wasn't close, and there was a great chance he would be dead before dawn. And despite all of the reasoning his common sense was trying to convince him with, he kept his eyes on the cave mouth, and held back his breath.

The hobbit was very close to freedom when he noticed something from the corner of his eye. He had no idea how could he miss it, nor Thorin and Dwalin, since they were the first to enter the cave and start scouting. It was a passage with a wide and tall opening, and he was sure it would be impossible to miss. It seemed to call him, to draw him closer and closer, and it was a temptation really hard to resist.

And he had known it for a long time now that he wasn't strong enough.

Before he could've thought about it, he was already moving in its direction, and he didn't even notice his backpack falling from his shoulder with a moderately silent thump. He left Sting behind as well, but he didn't mind. All Bilbo could care about was the pleasant, cool breeze caressing his face and ruffling his hair ever so gently. It felt like an invisible hand was running its fingers over his chin, his dirty, tear soaked cheeks, and it chased away every bad insight he had ever had.

With every step, the emptiness caused by being unwanted in this company seemed to be filled, and all of a sudden, the feeling of pain and fatigue left his body completely. He caught himself smiling, and he forgot everything that's ever bothered him before. The hobbit had never felt such peace in his life, and he knew he shouldn't have been so confiding, but he couldn't help it. It was everything he was yearning for, and now, he felt as complete as he only felt before his mother died. When everything was alright. Now, it seemed those times were still within reach. He would've been a fool not to reach with this in his mind.

The closer Bilbo got, the lighter the path seemed. He could see a greater cavern in the distance, and he could swear he heard the sound of a waterfall and... birds. More specifically, nightingales, and their jug was music for the hobbit's ears. He smiled even wider when he stopped at the end of the tunnel, and slowly looked around.

This cavern reminded Bilbo of the pictures in the books he held so many times as a young hobbit. It was the most beautiful place he had ever been. Dripstones, some of them as big as Gandalf himself, were reaching for him from the ceiling, worn by the endless ages. Nightingales were flying around in the huge space, filling the air with their songs, and chasing fireflies. In the back of the cave, Bilbo noticed the huge waterfall he was hearing the sound of only seconds earlier, and the water seemed so clear and inviting that he felt the need to laugh.

Were not any of these things, that surprised the halfling the most, though. It wasn't a cavern with birds and a noisy waterfall that was so unusual, but rather the small island in the middle of the cave, surrounded by water. It was the only spot, namely, where green grass grew, and a mature willow was standing tall on the toehold. It almost reached the long dripstones, and the longer branches were drifted gently on the surface of the water.

Bilbo's eyes filled with tears at the sight, it was so magical.

The nightingales were flying closer to the tree, playing with each other and singing beautiful songs that Bilbo could almost understand; how, though, he did not know. The hobbit followed them with his eyes, still standing on the same spot. They were fast, but not too fast so he could've lost them. Only when he looked hard enough, he saw a woman lying under the tree.

The hobbit was sure the woman hadn't been there before, but he didn't query anything. He did not dare. He only stood there and watched. The woman had long, blonde hair and her face was hidden to the halfling - he only saw her back. She wore a grey robe, and all appearanced that she was sleeping. Feel her the hobbit could, and he didn't want anything better than to talk to her. He didn't have the courage to speak, though, so he pushed every excuse aside, and stepped into the water with one foot.

His feet were still bruised and covered in cuts from the long journey they had come through the Misty Mountains - probably that is why it felt so overwhelmingly wonderful as the cool water was washing his skin. He smiled and looked down. Tiny fishes were swimming between his legs, and the soft touch of pebbles under his feet sent shivers running up and down his spine. His body was trembling from the joy that tried to burst him from the inside, and his mind was so busy with processing the ecstasy that he didn't even notice the dwarf following him.

Sheer horror took the place of bliss when Bilbo felt something pulling on his vest from behind. It was a firm grip, and he was soon standing on the shore again, facing a very angry dwarf king.

"Thorin," Bilbo breathed, and was still on the verge of panic a little. Thorin's hand didn't move from his neck.

"What are you doing, burglar?" His sharp, blue eyes contained something similiar to worry as he stared at Bilbo, waiting for an explanation.

Bilbo opened and closed his mouth a couple times, feeling like a goldfish, then cleared his throat quickly. "I was about to talk to that woman," he nodded with his head to the small island, but Thorin didn't look away from him. It was becoming frustrating. Those eyes seemed way too blue, and it made the hobbit nervous. "Can I not?"

"You were about to abandon the company," the dwarf growled. Bilbo didn't understand how could Thorin still be so bitter when this place was obviously not meant for that, but he didn't think it was the right moment to argue about it. "Then you came here without a weapon. Are you out of your mind, halfling?"

"I," Bilbo started but couldn't come up with anything. He didn't understand either. All he knew was that he wanted to see that woman, to talk to her, to treasure and preserve this feeling until the end of times. He wanted to feel like this in every single second of his life from now on. "Don't you feel it, Thorin?"

"Feel what?" the dwarf furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, and Bilbo laughed. The other didn't feel it, and the hobbit suddenly found it so amusing he just couldn't stop laughing.

"We should tell the others," the hobbit gently wrapped his fingers around Thorin's wrist, and pulled his arm away so he could go back to the company. Before the dward king could've said anything else, Bilbo was already on his way back, with the same huge smile on his face.

"Fili, Kili!" he shouted, and his echo was reverberated from the wet cave walls. It sounded a hundred times louder, and so did the urgent steps of the dwarf king, following him. "Dwalin, Balin, wake up! You have to see this!"

"Bilbo!" Thorin hissed, his voice irritated, but the hobbit kept going.

"Oin! Gloin! Wake up!"

"What happened?" Bofur sat up immediately, his voice hoarse from sleeping, and the enthusiastic face of their burglar really wasn't something that either of them was expecting to see. "What's wrong?"

"I found something! Get up already and follow me!" he urged them and, with huge suddenness, he turned around, crashing into Thorin's chest. The dwarf stood behind him like a brick wall, and Bilbo feared for the soundness of his nose for a second.

"I will never forgive Gandalf for talking me into taking you with us," he growled, and the hobbit's head snapped up to look into the other's eyes. Now that he was out of that cavern, the pleasant feeling was wearing off, and the dwarf's words were starting to hurt him. Again. "You have no use whatsoever. You should've never considered coming with us. Never."

"Thorin," Balin murmured in the background, but he was ignored by the dwarf king.

"I will see to it that you are delivered back to your precious Shire as soon as possible," Thorin grunted out and walked past the trembling hobbit. Bilbo could feel tears piercing his eyes, and he wished he had never left that cavern. He wouldn't feel so unwanted then, so useless, so pained.

The cave grew silent after Thorin walked back to his bedroll, but Bilbo never moved. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, and he looked up at the tunnel in the wall of the cave with longing.

He had never expected it would be gone.

Bilbo forgot about the pain right away, and ran to the spot where the tunnel's opening rose only a few minutes ago. Now it was all gone, and the hobbit ran his palm over the stone wall, like he was searching for a secret handle. He felt the despair building inside him with every passing second.

"It's not possible," he whispered, and pushed his ear to the wall. He wanted to hear the sound of those birds again, the waterfall, but all he could hear was the silent talks of the dwarves behind him.

"What's the matter, Mr. Baggins?" Kili came up to him, but Bilbo couldn't answer for quite some time. He was still desperately looking for the only way that led him to being content, to feel joy, and now, it simply vanished.

"You saw us coming out of that tunnel!" he turned around swiftly and blinked up at Kili. He could barely catch his breath. "You saw us!"

"What tunnel?" Fili asked from the background. Bilbo let out a helpless moan and turned to the wall again, hitting it with his fists.

"There was a tunnel here!" the hobbit was yelling now, attracting everyone's attention. "We've been in a different cavern, and I wanted you to see it, but now, the tunnel is gone!"

"I can see no tunnel, laddie," Balin shook his head with his hands on his hips. "Are you sure?"

Bilbo felt like crying. Everyone thought he was crazy, and now his last chance to feel happiness on this terrible journey was gone. And he couldn't bring it back, doesn't matter how badly he wanted to.

Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea if Thorin sent him back. But why did it hurt, then? Why did it suddenly hurt so much to think about leaving?

"The halfling speaks the truth," Thorin showed up next to Balin, then walked to the cave wall. Bilbo was looking at him with hope he's never felt before, that maybe, just maybe, Thorin could do something, because he was there. They were there together, and they saw. Maybe Thorin didn't feel what Bilbo felt, but the dwarf saw everything. He must have had an explanation. "There was a tunnel here."

His face reflected pure confusion and worry, and when he looked down at Bilbo, the hobbit realised that he was hoping too fast. Thorin didn't know more than him, and it planted fear in his heart.

"What in Durin's name is going on?" Dwalin muttered balefully and switched his gaze between his companions, but no one could come up with anything.

"Something is not right," Nori shook his head and started to back off in the direction of the cave mouth. "We should get going."

"In the middle of the night? Have you gone mad?" Ori asked with tangible disbelief and snorted. "I don't want to die by stone giants!"

"Then what should we do?"

"I won't stay here, you can be sure of tha'!"

"Arguing won't help our situation!"

"Neither disappearing passages, Fili!"

Bilbo didn't pay attention to the disputant company. All he could think about was that strange and beautiful place, and as he carefully looked up at Thorin, it seemed like he had the same thoughts in mind.

"I hate to interrupt, but what's that?"

Bofur's voice was drawing attention immediately, and everyone was staring at the direction he was pointing to. The air was stuck halfway in Bilbo's lungs as he realised what the toymaker was implying, and the sudden grumbling noise that came from under the ground didn't mean any good either.

Bofur was pointing to Sting, and the sword was shining in the bluest blue. It didn't need explanation.

"Grab your bags and get out of the cave, now!" Thorin yelled, and suddenly the whole company started to run around in the cave like a frightened hive.

Bilbo noticed the crack in the ground first, at the same spot where Thorin was meant to step, and as the earth disappeared from under their feet, the hobbit could pull back Thorin in the last moment. All of the other dwarves were falling into the endless pit with loud cries, but the relief that Bilbo felt was short lived. Thorin immediately wrested himself out of Bilbo's hold, and stared back at him with a frown. The hobbit's stomach dropped immediately.

"I don't need your help, hobbit," he bit out without any softness in his eyes. Bilbo felt sick from this amount of disgust. He knew the dwarf's opinion on him, but he still could not understand what turned Thorin against him like this. "It's your chance to go back to your Shire, and forget we have ever met."

The hobbit was frightened as he watched the dwarf king disappear in the pit, and he had to collect every ounce of willpower in his small body to fight back a panic attack. His skin started burning, more and more with every second, and he could barely see through his tears. He knew what was the right thing to do, but why would he do that if he was only a burden? If he had the chance to turn around and leave?

Just like earlier, he realised he didn't really have a choice, not even now.

He quickly picked up his bag and sword from the ground, and, with a great sigh, he jumped after the dwarves.


	2. No Ghost Can Hurt Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank every single one of you who took time to give me kudos or write comments! :3 I was really happy to see that you liked the first chapter, and, although this one contains less action and dialogues, I still hope you will like it as well.
> 
> Enjoy!

On when exactly Bilbo reached the ground, he had no idea.

In his last memory, he was falling and falling, with the speed of a comet, and he actually felt like one, because he could've sworn his skin was on fire. He had never felt such burning before, such itching that covered his whole body, but he didn't have to bear that pain for too long, for once he reached the bottom, he lost consciousness.

The hobbit was lying on the hard ground for hours without moving. If anyone had seen him, they would've thought he was surely dead. He was barely breathing, and a deep cut was running down his cheek, starting off in the base of his forehead. It was bleeding, resulting in his hair sticking to his skin, and it seemed way worse than it actually was.

After a longer rest than what he intended to take in this strange place, he slowly opened his eyes. He could barely see through the haze that was sitting on his eyes, but when he managed to ignore the terrible aching of his head, he could make out a figure standing above him. The hobbit's face was twitching from the pain as he tried to sit up, and he could scarcely even raise his arm to the scar on his face. He wasn't particularly surprised to see his own blood soaking his palm, but his stomach dropped for a moment, and he looked up quickly.

Bilbo could tell now that the figure was a man. The halfling knew it well that he should've been afraid, or at least cautious, but he felt the sort of peace which he had only experienced back in that cavern. His head might've been aching and he might've been bleeding, but he didn't feel threatened in the company of this strange man with the long, black hair. He looked like an elf in his green robes and even greener cloak, and the half-smile on his face was everything but a reason to be afraid.

But what would an elf do in a goblin cave?

Bilbo came to the conclusion that he must be dead. Obviously.

"Am I dead?" he spoke his mind after a bit of hesitation. The man in front of him just shook his head with his smile slightly widening. Not enough for Bilbo to notice, though.

"No, Bilbo Baggins. You are very much alive," he answered, and his voice was surprisingly deep. He was a tall man with wide shoulders and piercing, blue eyes. Not as piercing as Thorin's, though, but...

_Oh, for mercy’s sake, what happened to the dwarf?_

The man spoke, as if he had read Bilbo's mind. "Do not fret, little hobbit." The stranger stepped closer and kneeled in front of Bilbo, so he could look into his eyes more closely. From so little distance, Bilbo could tell he was not an elf, but something more. Something the halfling couldn't quite put his finger on. "No harm has come upon your friends. Not yet."

"Where are they?" The hobbit was almost too afraid to ask, but before fear could've started to grow in his heart, something always soothed it and brough him comfort again. It felt like magic, but he didn't dare hope.

He never admitted it, but he would've given anything to have Gandalf by his side in that moment.

"Their present situation should be their concern only, not yours," he murmured on his low, hypnotizing voice, and looked at the hobbit with a soft expression. "You should care about the future, and the future only."

Bilbo started to feel worried, but, unlike his fear that simply vanished, it seemed to stay with him. "What does that mean?"

"The future holds challenges for you, little hobbit. You should never let your guards down, for danger lies in wait for you everywhere you go. This is a long journey that _must_ succeed, cost what it may."

The hobbit slowly started to realise that there was only one reasonable explanation to this whole situation. Mysterious aids with such knowledge on the future weren't hiding in wet, dark caves under the Misty Mountains, and lost, injured hobbits didn't trust them so easily. Unless the helpers wanted them to.

And where else could have they reached it than in a dream? It explained everything, and also gave him a tiny bit of comfort.

If it was all going to end badly, he would be sure there was a way out. Somewhere.

"I presume you won't give me details on this very dangerous future, will you?" Bilbo sighed deeply, and, for the first time, the stranger gave him a small chuckle.

"You will learn everything when you are meant to, Bilbo Baggins," he bowed his head, then stood up to look down on the hobbit.

"You won't even tell me your name?" Bilbo tried without truly hoping he would get an answer.

"You may know me as Lórien, but I can tell you nothing more," Lórien shook his head, and started to move back, extending the distance between them with every step. "You will find your answers once you are ready for them. This is not the last time you see me, little hobbit."

Bilbo wanted to speak, wanted to ask more questions, but the strange man slowly disappeared in the fog that certainly hadn't been there before. A bizarre sort of exhaustion began to blur Bilbo's mind, and in spite of his attempts to fight it, the feeling soon took over him, and he feebly fell to the ground.

***

The next awakening wasn't near as pleasant as the first. The throbbing pain in Bilbo's head and the bleeding of his injury were much worse than in the strange dream, and the burning sensation on his skin had immediately returned once he regained his composure. He was scared and helpless, and it took a few minutes before he could stand up and look around.

It goes without saying that the man - Lórien, as he was kind enough to share this information - was long gone, and Bilbo was completely alone in the huge cavern. Unfriendly cliffs and skeletons surrounded him, and Bilbo could've sworn they seemed to frown at the hobbit. He shook this ridiculous thought out of his head at once, and, to look for some comfort, he reached to grab the hilt of his sword.

His terror only grew as he realised that Sting was missing from his swordbelt.

Bilbo wasn't lacking his backpack at first. He didn't really notice the absence of the weight on his shoulders; after all, he had enough pain to bear already. The bleeding soothed as the minutes passed, and only the piercing ache was left behind in a long line from his forehead to the middle of his cheek. It cleared his right eye by inches, but the relief one would feel after a realisation like this was missing. He was too busy looking for his sword in the dark.

It should glow blue, he thought desperately. He had seen no blue light, however, and it made him anxious. He didn't remember whether he had the sword with him in the dream or not, but he guessed dreams weren't actually good leads to go on. He was weak from the heavy landing after the fall, and the burning on his skin just didn't seem to go away. What is more, Bilbo felt like it was only intensifying.

The hobbit was searching for a good fifteen minutes when he couldn't go any further, and finally allowed his knees to give out. He unceremoniously sat down behind a huge rock, almost twice as big as him, and, with a bow of his head, he slowly closed his eyes. He didn't want to cry, but he was really close to the edge. His whole body was in pain, he didn't see a way out in this darkness, and he might as well have died there, no one would have noticed. Some lone goblin would find his skeleton and use his bones to sound the war drums. He would sink into oblivion. The dwarves might take back Erebor, or they would die, too. Gloin might meet his family again, or he might not. Fili might be a real dwarf prince one day, or he might not. And Thorin? Bilbo really hoped Thorin could be king. That he could finish Smaug off and earn what he deserved. That was all Bilbo wished for him while sitting in that dark cave, listening to his own heartbeat. However, if the dwarf was meant to fail, he will fail, and Bilbo won't be there to help him.

He couldn't even help himself, let alone a king.

What would happen to Bag-End if he died, though? The Sackville-Bagginses would probably put their hands on the place, turning it upside down if they had to. Oh, how he missed the Shire! He grew more and more powerless as he wandered back in his thoughts, to relive the days when he was a respectable hobbit; when he didn't know dwarf kings and toymakers and thieves. When he didn't have to starve, to feel pain, to feel lonely. And yet, those were the boring days, compared to everything he had already been through. As a young hobbit lad, he was absolutely oblivious to the world beyond the Shire, and he longed to see it. Now, he wished he could take everything back and forget every last ounce of Took he had in him. He was a Baggins, and he wasn't made for adventures.

After all, he already felt like dying after the first real obstacle.

His hand, that was resting in his lap so far, slowly slipped to the ground and he took a shaky breath. He was just about to completely lose himself when his finger touched something cold; something differently cold from the tiny, sharp rocks on the ground. He furrowed his brows for a moment, trying to palpate the small object, then he opened his eyes. It was truly a surprise.

The trinket in his hand was a small, golden ring. Despite the darkness in the cave, it shone through with its flawlessness, and Bilbo could do nothing but to stare at it for a moment. What would such a valuable ring do in a place like this? It was a really interesting situation, since it was the second time he questioned the stay of something since he was there, but he felt too tired to look for connections between the two occurrence. He forgot about his pain for a few minutes as he kept turning the ring between his fingers, and then he delicately let it slip on his third one.

Bilbo felt a sudden rush of warmth washing over him, and, all at once, everything seemed lighter. He noticed small holes in the wall that he couldn't see before, huge cliffs hiding in the shadows, and, not too far, a lake in the deeper part of the cave. They weren't the only things he noted with utter surprise, though. The burning of his skin was all gone, and the only pain he felt was the ache in his head. The hobbit didn't understand, but dare he did not remove the ring from his finger. It seemed to give him comfort, and that was all he needed.

He felt his spirit coming back, and he stood to start looking for his sword again. This time, he didn't have to wander around for too long, for on the shallow edge of the lake, he spotted both his backpack and Sting. The joy that took over him was almost overwhelming, and he didn't care too much about the throbbing pain of his injury. The hobbit was walking quickly, and picked up his belongings without hesitation.

Maybe he wasn't meant to die here after all.

Finding the way out was more difficult, though. He had to pass round the lake (which happened to be larger than what the hobbit expected) and squeeze himself through narrow gaps in the cave wall. It resulted in losing some of his buttons, and he let out a small, pained sigh. His vest seemed a bit less decent now, but he didn't spend too much time mourning over it. He could sometimes catch a weak breeze of fresh air and he tried to follow it the best he could. For the first time since being down here all alone, he was grateful to have some Tookish blood in him. The line of his mother took pride in some adventurous hobbits, and he might inherited their skills in finding the right way quickly.

He just needed to find the ring first.

Seeing the last rays of the setting sun felt like a balm to Bilbo's heart once he was out in the open. He knew he shouldn't have been wasting any time, for he could've been caught at any moment, but he couldn't make himself move from the mouth of the cave in the mountain side. He stood there, breathing heavily like he was running for his life, and he inhaled the fresh air until his lungs couldn't take more. He wasn't safe out there in the woods either, but to feel the nature's warmth on his skin was better than anything he had ever experienced before. It reminded him of things he long lost but still yearned for, places he wished he could've been, people he wished would've been there with him.

Yet, he was still alone, and he had to move to find the others. He only hoped they could escape the mountain as well.

***

One basic thing Bilbo learned from the company was to always find shelter before the sun completely disappeared on the horizon. At the beginning of their journey, setting up the camp was the favourite part of Bilbo's day. He was usually alone, collecting twigs and dry branches, but if he wanted company, he could join Fili and Kili. The sister-sons of Thorin always kept him in good spirits, and their merry laughs and playful natures never ceased to put Bilbo in a good mood.

There were occasions when Bilbo took a stroll around the camp where he could still see the campfire and hear the dwarves, but still, he could be alone with his own thoughts. He often caught himself thinking about Bag-End as he picked some berries that he recognised from the Shire, and the company was always more than happy to accept if he offered them from his 'takings'. Not all of them, though. The 'ri brothers were always the most welcoming towards him, and so was Bofur, Bombur and the Durins (never Thorin, of course). Dwalin always spent time with Thorin and he never talked to him more than a few words, and sometimes he could sense suspicion on Bifur as well, but from a dwarf with an axe stuck in his head, it wasn't all that wondrous. Bofur always tried to comfort the hobbit, whenever he could, telling him that he was one of them now, and that they would've done anything for him. For some reason, it never worked. Bilbo always felt like an outsider, even when he was cooking with Bombur or he was listening to the stories of Balin. One look at Thorin was enough to feel unwanted and a burden. It was hard to look at him sometimes.

If Bilbo was really about to live in this illusion that he was useful for the others, it was the only way to cope. He had to ignore that look.

Now, as the halfling was sitting between two massive snags in the base of a tree, he would've rather kept looking at Thorin's bitter expression than to be completely alone. He didn't dare light a fire or to even make a sound. He just sat there, playing with the ring on his finger but never removing it, and listened to the sound of the wind between the shrouds. When he looked up, he could see the bright stars on the raven black canvas of the sky in the distance, but when he turned his head to the other direction, the clouds were painted in pink, hinting that there would be bloodshed during the night. It was another thing the hobbit could learn from the dwarves: reading the signs of the sky. Everything had a meaning, and somehow, Bilbo found it fascinating; although those signs weren't meant for him, but for the dwarves. He was just an attachment.

The hobbit missed the company more than anything, and even the ring didn't give him consolation anymore. The pain in his head was only moderate, and, while he wore the ring, he didn't feel the stinging on his skin. All he had to worry about was to not get abandoned, for the dwarves will surely think he escaped and went back to the Shire as soon as he saw the chance. And yes, he was contemplating the possibility, but his better half talked him out of it.

He had to find the others. But he did not know how.

Bilbo did not know where he was exactly, but he guessed he was closer to the eastern side of the Misty Mountains, which meant he was far, far away from Rivendell. There was no way he could make it back without getting caught, being a hobbit or not. He didn't have a map, and these lands were unknown for him. He was already lost, and it seemed absolutely impossible that he could find his way back to the East-West Road, let alone to the Last Homely House.

Dark, gloomy thoughts started to fill his mind again about being torn apart by wolves after he died (or even worse, causing his death), and sinking into oblivion, leaving the dwarves to remember him as a coward and a traitor. He was deep in these thoughts when suddenly, distant cries and the familiar howls of wargs caught his attention. Bilbo raised his head immediately, trying to find the direction where the noises were coming from, and he soon realised it was behind him, farther in the woods. For a second he hesitated, thinking about going in the exact opposite direction, but he knew his choice already.

Not like there was a choice at all, not really. It seemed like he never had one.

And maybe that was absolutely fine.

He picked up his bag from the ground and started to follow the voices, never letting go of Sting's hilt. He felt his blood heating up the closer he got to the end of the woods, and as a strange smell found its way to his nose, he stopped abruptly.

Was it something... _burning?_

He looked up but could see nothing besides the dark night sky. He burnt his food enough times back in his little hole that he could recognise this smell anywhere, and his senses seemed to serve him right, for he soon felt heat coming from the distance. At the same time, he saw the orange flames reaching the sky, and the trees started glowing. Bilbo felt his heart beating in his throat. He could barely hear the voices anymore, but the howls grew louder and his stomach dropped.

He had to hurry, for he was sure this was the danger Lórien warned him about. And if he had a chance, he would make sure the journey succeeded, 'cost what it may'.


	3. To The Edge Of The Earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I decided to upload this chapter earlier because a) I make a good pace with my writing lately, and I am not afraid that I might outrun myself with posting the chapters, and b) the last chapter was pretty short, so here is the compensation. I slightly altered the canon here, but it's not that bad I guess. : )
> 
> Also, I took the end-dialogue from the movie directly.
> 
> Enjoy!

The first warg ran past the hobbit so fast he could barely notice.

Bilbo saw wargs earlier, when they chased the company to Rivendell. Those beasts were huge; the halfling had probably never seen such enormous creatures before. They were on scouting, looking for them, and had it not been for the elves, they would've been dead by now. Bilbo shuddered from thinking about Thorin's head, pinned up on a pike.

He didn't expect much less of Azog, from what he had heard of him from Balin and the others.

But, back to the wargs. They were truly towering creatures, and they left nothing in their ways untouched. They weren't easy to kill, but even harder to escape, and once Bilbo realised that the demonic monster passed him by like he wasn't there in the first place, he stopped on his way to reach the source of the fire.

Something was not right, and his raging heartbeat put the sound of wardrums in his ears. Why would that warg miss the chance to tear him apart? He was most certainly in its field of vision, and yet, he was alive and breathing. Not like he wasn't happy about that. It wasn't the most pleasant way to die, after all, by the claws and the vicious teeth of a warg. Still, he didn't understand.

He had no time to brood over the strange occurence, for another warg, twice the size of any other warg Bilbo had ever seen, had jumped over the hobbit's head. Eight feet long it was, from snout to hindquarters, with white fur and a huge orc riding on its back. Bilbo froze to the spot, and he did not dare take a breath, let alone move anywhere. The howling animal was running farther and farther away from him, until it completely disappeared in the dim light of the distant fire. After a few seconds, Bilbo realised he was shaking.

There was no doubt about it now. The wargs did not see him.

At first, he could not come up with any reasonable explanation. He was dumbfoundedly staring ahead of him and tried to regain his composure. It was a real near-death experience, after all, and small, innocent hobbits were not used to these kind of adventures. The Shire was a peaceful place where the greatest danger was a burnt dinner or a bad harvest. Or, in Bilbo's case, the Sackville-Bagginses. Now, though, those times seemed to be not more than history, and Bilbo knew he might never learn to appreciate them again, if he ever were to return to Bag-End. Which, at the moment, didn't seem to be the case.

His train of thoughts was split in half, though, once the desperate, but really familiar cry broke the faint silence. Bilbo's head snapped up to the voice and he could've sworn his heart skipped a beat.

The hobbit was sure he heard a name. And he was sure to hear Thorin's.

"The dwarves," he breathed, stunned. He took a tentative step ahead, then two, and then three, and, before he could've changed his mind, he was already running.

The company was here.

***

It burnt.

His skin, it was on flames. And not only because of the long, sharp-edged teeth that were digging into his flesh, or his chest that still numbed and ached from the heavy mace of the Defiler. No, his skin was stinging for an entirely different reason. One he didn't understand just yet.

As he collected the last bits of his strength in his body to raise his arm and swing Orcrist at the head of the massive, white warg, it hurt. As he was flying a good ten feet in the air and landed heavily on a stone, it hurt. As he slowly opened his eyes and saw the flames swallowing everything around him, it hurt.

And it burnt. Burnt more than anything.

Thorin felt this ache in his body ever since he jumped into the pit in the goblin cave. At first he thought it was because of the fall; he landed on his stomach that time, his face smashing into the shattered mix of wood, bones and tiny stones. He received several cuts and bruises on his cheeks, his lower lip was bleeding, and he could barely stand on his own feet. He hoped the burning would eventually go away, but it didn't. More intense it got as they fought the enemy, and, with the help of Gandalf, they could defeat the Great Goblin, and also escape from the cave, even if only barely.

The lack of the hobbit wasn't conspicuous at first. They've been running for their lives, and they only stopped when they were sure enough they haven't been followed. Then Gandalf counted them, and they realised that the fourteenth member of the company was missing.

Thorin, of course, wasn't surprised. He didn't hide the truth from the others, for they deserved to know: the dwarf king himself told the burglar to go. He was sure Mr. Baggins used this chance to flee, and that he was already somewhere in Rivendell, eating lembas with the elves. The anger on Gandalf's face was something Thorin wished he hadn't had to see addressed to him.

"What have you done, Thorin Oakenshield?" the wizard stormed, and the whole sky grew dark and grim around them. Thorin had to swallow to ease the sudden tightness in his throat. "How could you be such a fool? How could you tell him to go?"

Thorin started to feel like a living torch again.

"He had no place amongst us!" the dwarf king stated, but he knew his stubbornness would bring trouble on him. Gandalf had never been fond of this particular trait that ran in the blood of his kin. "He was homesick! It was for the best to let him go!"

"And with him you let go of Erebor, too!"

Gandalf might've been terrifying sometimes, since carrying that power only was a frightening thing, but he usually stayed calm. Now, though, he was shouting, and Thorin felt every single hair on his body standing on end. The dwarf had always known how important the hobbit was for the wizard, but he would've never imagined he would cause so much trouble with letting the halfling go.

Now he certainly regretted it.

The orcs swooped down on them so suddenly that the argument between dwarf and wizard was abruptly left behind, and all they cared for was to save their lives. Again.

Out of the frying pan, into the fire, Thorin thought bitterly as the first wargs came down the hillside, howling out to the others, and there were the dwarves, running once more. He held to his axe tightly, swinging it to the side when a warg tried to come too close, but there was a point where they could not run farther, for the hill continued no more.

There was nothing but an abyss, but it might as well have been a corner, for they were trapped. And there was no going back.

Now, as he was lying on his back and stared up at the glowing night sky, he felt tears pricking his eyes. He was supposed to give back Erebor to his people, to his friends, to his family. He was supposed to look after Kili and Fili, to keep the promise he made to Dis. He was supposed to fulfill the dream of his father and grandfather and reclaim the Lonely Mountain, to walk the halls of his home again. And, although he strictly warned Gandalf about the opposite, he was supposed to protect the hobbit, too.

He could do none of it.

Would his father be proud of him? What would his mother say? Would Frerin stop believing in Thorin, that he could be the best king to rule Erebor? Or would he be disappointed to see his brother fall?

He wanted to cry, because he knew the answers. He heard the desperate cries of Dwalin in the distance, the sound of his name coming out of his friend's mouth distant. He could hear nothing besides his own heartbeat and the heavy sigh leaving his lips as the blade of the orc's axe touched his neck. It felt cool against his skin, and Thorin could feel the smallest drop of blood from the small wound that the axe caused rolling down his skin. It slowly disappeared in his hair.

He wished it would end quickly so he wouldn't have to see the others die. Even though his mind already gave up, his body was desperately trying to reach for Orcrist, to defend himself, but it was useless. The dwarf couldn't move, and the sword lay too far.

Good as dead he was.

As the orc raised the axe from his neck to brandish it, Thorin slowly let his eyes slid shut. He felt a sad smile tugging at his lips while he took one last breath and gave himself over to the eternal bliss awaiting him in Durin's Land.

That was when he realised the burning was gone.

And he opened his eyes.

***

The first thing Bilbo realised was the ring slipping off his finger. It landed on the ground with an unreasoningly heavy sound, like it was a bag of bricks instead of a small golden ring. Bilbo shoved the thought into the back of his mind. All he could see was fire, wargs, orcs, and one particular orc that was ready to chop Thorin's head off. He didn't expect this sight when he stepped out of the woods, that he knew. Nevertheless, he didn't move to pick the ring up or to save his friend, he was so utterly frozen.

The second realisation hit him when he could feel the intense gaze of Gandalf on his face. He was positive about his invisibility since the wargs passed him by like he was only a mere blade of grass. Now, though, there was no way Gandalf was looking through him, for once Bilbo met his eyes, the wizard still didn't look away. There was an endless ocean of emotions on the old man's face, and Bilbo could see it crystal clearly despite the great distance between the two of them. The hobbit saw relief, worry, and something deeper. Something meaningful.

The third thing he noticed was the strange ease in his body, for now, despite the ring missing from his finger, he didn't feel any burning sensation. And, somehow, he felt like it had something to do with the company.

Maybe with one particular dwarf.

Finally, the last thing he caught himself doing was bringing down the orc that held the giant axe.

It really wasn't a decision that the hobbit thought over a hundred times before deciding to go for it. No, it was absolutely out of his control. He actually scolded himself for being so reckless once the orc's blood was all over his already ruined vest, but he didn't run away.

The halfling was terrified to see Thorin so still when he usually was so full of fire and life, but his mind was focused on the familiar warg approaching him. It was the beast with the white fur, the one that jumped over him with such ease. It was even more terrifying now, to stare right into its bloodshot-gold eyes, to see Thorin's blood still dripping from the edge of its mouth. The orc riding it couldn't be anyone else but the Defiler, the Pale Orc, Azog. The scars all over his half-naked body, the missing hand, the cunning look in his dark red eyes and the smirk playing on his lips led to no other conclusion. Not like the hobbit expected the orc to politely introduce himself; he wore his battle scars with such pride that he might as well burnt his name into his chest for everyone to see.

Bilbo felt sick to his stomach for a moment, for being the prey of this man, but he didn't have to feel so helpless for much longer.

Terrified was the hobbit, but he guarded Thorin's body like he could finish off every single warg that dare come at him. Maybe that gave the strength for the dwarves to collect their strength and attack, slicing the monsters with such utter surety that it left the hobbit breathless. Fili was in front of him before the hobbit could've blinked twice, and a short look from the dwarf was enough to reassure the halfling that no harm would come to him.

After the wordless conversation, Bilbo immediately knelt beside Thorin, turning the dwarf's head so he could see his face. The soft skin on his cheeks was covered in deep cuts, while dirt and blood coloured it dark at places. Bilbo had to swallow back a lump in his throat.

There was no way Thorin was dead. It couldn't be.

"No," he breathed, almost without a sound, and he shook his head ever so slightly. "No, you stubborn dwarf."

The hobbit's hand was trembling more than he would've liked to admit as he raised it to the other's nose, waiting for the softest brush of warmth to caress his skin. The relief that washed over him once the dwarf let out a shaky breath was more than what Bilbo could take. He absentmindedly brushed some silver locks back from Thorin's face as a mantra kept going in his head on repeat, 'he is alive, he is alive, he is alive', and only the unexpected screech coming from above him made him look away.

He most certainly hadn't been more stunned in his whole life than in that moment.

An enormous eagle was reaching for Thorin with its frightening claws, and, for a moment, thoughts about fainting and throwing himself into the depths of the abyss clouded Bilbo's mind. He had no idea whatsoever on what was happening, but as he quickly glanced around, only to see the others being taken away by the same kind of birds, he followed his first reasonable instinct.

The hobbit threw himself over Thorin and watched the solid ground getting farther away from them as they were rising from the cliff.

Only an oaken branch was left behind, and Bilbo kept his gaze on it until there was no way to see it.

The flight from there wasn't as unpleasant as it first seemed. As much as Bilbo could tell, everyone from the company was fine, but they all shot worried glances towards their leader. The hobbit only wished he could've eased their fears somehow, but for distance was too great, all he could do was to give them a small smile and keep his ear above the heart of the dwarf. It had a weak, but nevertheless steady beat, and until the Carrock appeared on the horizon, he didn't raise his head.

He heard of this place from Gandalf earlier, during a night they spent talking in the camp. The wizard told him about the huge, stony eyot that was rising high between the Misty Mountains and Mirkwood, providing the perfect sight for anyone who wished to look upon Middle-Earth.

 _It is most certainly an enormous stone_ , Bilbo noted as the Carrock rose to view behind the Mountains. It seemed to be bigger than what the hobbit suspected, but he thought it must've been the trick of his eyes, since the eyot was lit by the rising sun from behind. Light could play games with the mind, he knew that well.

Once they got closer, it wasn't long until the eagle carrying them gently placed both on the top of the Carrock. They were soon surrounded by an abundance of desperate dwarves, so Bilbo was crowded out of the circle. He stood farther away, feeling like the attachment he had always considered himself to be, now more than ever. It hurt, but only a bit, and far not as badly as the burning that took over him several times in the last few hours. Interestingly, it was all gone since he was reunited with the company.

The hobbit carefully watched as Gandalf rushed to Thorin's side and knelt down, gently placing his palm over the dwarf's face. Bilbo felt the knots in his stomach grow. He wished he arrived earlier so he could've saved Thorin sooner. He would've been able to drive Sting through the neck of that Pale Orc before his warg could've even touched the dwarf king. He felt anger and despair, and the moments seemed like hours while Gandalf was murmuring his spells with infinite calmness.

He wanted to shout, to cry, to yell 'you have to save him, you can't let him die!', but he knew it wouldn't have done any good. Gandalf was trying his best, and, apparently, after waiting for what felt like years, Bilbo could see Thorin's eyelids fluttering. The sigh that slipped out of his lips sounded more like the cry of relief. Bilbo had to raise his hand to cover his mouth.

It was like a piece of his soul had been given back to him, and the soft smile on Gandalf's face was another reason to feel relieved.

But, of course, nothing lasted forever, and good things seemed to pass even faster.

"What were you doing?" Thorin's voice was harsh and cold, and his face was full of refusal. For a moment, Bilbo didn't really know where to put all this, but then he simply realised that just because he popped up in the last moment to save the day, it didn't mean he was to be deified. Not by someone like Thorin, he should've known that at least. "You nearly got yourself killed!"

 _I didn't care_ , Bilbo wanted to answer, but no words came out of his mouth. He swallowed hard and tore his glance from Thorin, looking for something on the ground that didn't look back at him with such expression. He didn't know how long he could bear it.

"Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild?" Thorin took a step closer, and the tense silence between his sentences that were filled with full of loathing made the whole situation at least a hundred times worse. Bilbo desperately wished someone would speak up, for anyone to defend him, but he immediately felt sick for wishing such things. If he really had wanted, he could've defended himself and he knew that. Yet, he only stood there, and waited for the torture to finally end. "That you had no place amongst us?"

A part of Bilbo expected Thorin to just shove him hard and over the edge of the eyot. Not like he longed to die, because no, he would've rather lived with this shame and gone back to the Shire to not bother Thorin any longer, but he desperately wanted the dwarf to finish this conversation (which was quite one-sided, to tell the truth) and let him be.

And so did the dwarf.

"I have never been so wrong in all my life."

The sudden move came indeed, but it wasn't to shove him away. Rather, two strong arms pulled the small hobbit forwards, until he felt the dwarf's chest against his own, and the other's slightly stubbly face in his neck.

It definitely wasn't something the hobbit was expecting, but, like so many times in the last few hours, his body moved without an order from his mind.

He tentatively hugged back, digging his fingers deep into the dwarf king's furs.

Thorin smelled like metal, fire, and soil, the kind of soil that he used to lie on all day long as a young hobbit, back in the Shire. It brought tears to his eyes right away. He forgot all the pain he carried in his soul, and, for the time being, he felt like in that cave.

Completely healed, pain-free, and content. Maybe even more than in the cave.

"I am sorry I doubted you," the low voice of the dwarf king pulled the hobbit out of his thoughts, and the muffled sound next to his ear covered his whole body in goosebumps. Thorin didn't let go, not even for a second, and Bilbo had never felt such safety before in his whole life. He felt like he could conquer the entire world with this strength, and he soon caught himself smiling into Thorin's shoulder.

"No, I would've doubted me too," he answered eventually, with a slight nod of his head. He pulled back just enough to look into those crystalline eyes. They shone at the hobbit with no contempt, not anymore, but with pure joy and something like longing, in the corner of his eyes. Bilbo's heart skipped a beat at the realisation. "I am not a hero or a warrior. Not even a burglar," he shrugged, and was surprised to see Thorin's smile widen. It was a sight he could've easily got used to.

Maybe he would have the chance now.


	4. Our Scars, Our Battles

Not in his entire life had Bilbo ever enjoyed a bath as much as he did in that moment.

Hobbits usually had a delicate palate if it came to looking decent and impeccable, and it most certainly included one's personal hygiene. They might've not been seen swimming in lakes or rivers, but they never welcomed guests or went visiting relatives and friends without making sure first that they were clean and smelled good.

Bilbo didn't have the chance to take a proper bath since he left home. Washing the dirt out of his hair and from between his toes felt better than anything a hobbit could ever imagine. It looked like the dwarves felt quite the same, if the laughter and the groans once they had sunk deep in the water were anything to go by. It put a small smile on the halfling's face.

They were far enough so they wouldn't bother each other (Bilbo was shy if it came to showing his body to anyone, even if it was only his own kin, let alone to dwarves), but close enough so the hobbit wouldn't get lost. He still wasn't quite himself after the last few days, and he was glad he had the company around him.

For how long he sojourned in the water, he did not know. He assumed that, for long days to come, he would not have the chance to luxuriate the utter magnificence this cave provided him, so he tried to extend his time in there as long as he could. Bilbo knew they didn't have all the time in the world, since at the Carrock they still were, but he thought that until Gandalf wouldn't tell him otherwise, he could stay in the water and enjoy this little period of peace. He had a gut feeling it wouldn't last long.

Bilbo finally emerged from the water after what it seemed at least twenty minutes for him. Gandalf offered him a piece of cloth to dry himself with earlier. Although the wizard did not tell why he was carrying such things with him, Bilbo certainly believed it was a handkerchief, only in Gandalf's size. He did not want to think about it too much, he just pulled it around his waist as he stood and turned around to leave the cave and look for the others.

He didn't expect Thorin standing in front of him, majestic as he was, even without a shirt.

Bilbo's breath was immediately caught in his lungs. He did not mean to stare, since it wasn't something that a respectable hobbit, or anyone respectable would do, but he couldn't help himself. The dwarf king was towering over him like the whole of Carrock, his face unreadable, bare chest enshrouding the light coming from the cave mouth. The only garment he wore was a light brown trouser that hung freely on his hips, and it looked like it could've fallen from its place any moment now.

Bilbo gaped. This dwarf never ceased to amaze him. He wasn't much taller than the hobbit, but his shoulders were three times wider and his muscles were something Bilbo had never seen before on anyone. Hobbits really weren't the ones to parade around the Shire without being clothed properly, and it's not like he was ashamed of his shape. He wasn't as fat as other hobbits could grow to be, and he even had some muscles on him. Now, though, as he stared at Thorin, he felt his cheeks burning from the sight. He only wished the dwarf would've never seen him like this, ever.

"Gandalf is looking for you," Thorin broke the silence on his usual low voice, and Bilbo shivered. He realised he was really far from being a respectable hobbit, since he was staring at the other's chest for at least a minute now. He just couldn't tear his eyes from it.

That was when he noticed it.

It wasn't the only scar on his body, since the whole of his chest and stomach was covered with smaller cicatrices that time turned into mere pinkish by now. But that one, that particular scar just above his heart, it was the biggest of all of them. It had two smaller ones close next to it, almost abreast, and Bilbo swallowed hard. They seemed like the mark of claws. Wolf claws.

Bilbo's stomach dropped when he realised that Thorin was staring at him coldly, like he was doing something very bad. The hobbit tore his glance away quickly, trying to find something else to look at. He had this unsettling feeling in his chest as he felt the dwarf king's eyes bore into him for a few more seconds before he just swiftly passed him by. Only then the halfling felt a bit of relief washing over him.

He didn't have the courage to look back at the dwarf as he started walking towards the cave mouth. He held the cloth around his waist with numb fingertips, and the sound that came out of his mouth was almost embarassingly relieved once he spotted Gandalf sitting on a massive rock, pulling his pipe easily. The hobbit was almost running towards the wizard, and once he reached him, he was even more glad when he saw his clothes folded in Gandalf's lap.

"Oh, Bilbo, here you are," Gandalf put his pipe down on a close rock where it wouldn't tip over, and, with a soft smile, he gave Bilbo his clothes. "I was looking for you."

"Yes, I have already heard of that." Bilbo didn't like the way his voice sounded, mostly because of the shock it still held, but he tried his best to ignore it. He just couldn't seem to put the sight of that awful scar out of his head.

He should've known better than to underestimate Gandalf, though. The wizard saw through him like he was only a puff of smoke from his pipe.

"What is bothering you, my dear Bilbo?" the wizard asked kindly, being a hundred percent sure that something startled Bilbo.

"It's nothing," the hobbit shook his head while he pulled his trousers over his legs, and tried to focus on putting on his clothes right. However, his hands were slightly trembling and he didn't understand why.

Not like he hadn't seen scars before! He most certainly did. He had one himself, right over his cheek, and it wasn't beautiful at all. After all, it wasn't a battle scar that he could've been proud of. It was the result of his clumsiness, and he wasn't joyful about it. He even felt a bit of shame when Gandalt took a look at it earlier and announced that it might never disappear completely. The hobbit felt only more depressed after learning this, but the sympathetic looks from Bofur and Balin were like balm on his aching heart.

However, that scar of Thorin's was absolutely different. Bilbo knew it held a secret, and it didn't let him be.

"You cannot lie to me, Bilbo Baggins," Gandalf narrowed his eyes like he was about to read the hobbit's mind, and it was truly frustrating. He couldn't even button his shirt right because of the cunning look of the wizard on the hobbit's face, and when he tried five times and kept failing again and again, he threw his hands away with a frustrated sigh.

"Could you please stop looking at me like that?" he snapped, but was met with an innocently blinking pair of eyes, and he took one more deep breath before running his palm over his face. He saw no reason behind it anymore, but nevertheless, he liked the old wizard, even if he was the very source of Bilbo's frustration.

"My dear boy, are you alright?" Gandalf asked as he helped the hobbit buttoning his shirt. His voice was dripping with worry, and Bilbo thought that maybe it wouldn't do any harm if he spoke his mind to the wizard. After all, he must've had the answers he was aching to receive.

"I just," he started with a deep sigh. "I saw something. On Thorin's chest."

Gandalf's expression suddenly grew heavy and worry creased his brow. It never meant any good, and Bilbo's heart started pounding faster in his chest.

"You saw the scar," the wizard said, avoiding Bilbo's eyes. He slowly reached for his pipe and raised it to his lips, but it seemed like he changed his mind in the last moment, for he lowered it in his lap.

"Where did he get it from?" the hobbit asked, curiosity obvious in his voice. Even the halfling did not understand his sudden interest in the history of that scar, but the coldness that Thorin looked at him with once he caught the hobbit staring was making Bilbo uncomfortable. Even thinking about that look made him sick to his stomach, and he wanted to know whatever the reason was behind it.

He was so deep in his thoughts he almost missed Gandalf standing up. The wizard seemed awfully tall sometimes, mostly when he wanted to be, and Bilbo felt way too small next to him now.

"That scar is really important for Thorin," Gandalf finally answered on a voice full of sadness. Bilbo shuddered at the unusual tone of the wizard's voice. "I am fairly certain he will share its importance with you once he believes the occasion is fitting."

Bilbo didn't keep asking about it, although he was still very curious and not at all satisfied with the answer. However, there were things that needed time, and scars that needed mending. Sometimes neither of those came to pass.

The hobbit truly hoped Thorin would get both.

***

Elms and oaks were standing tall alongside the path the company was following. The afternoon wind was warm against their skin, and the sun was not bothered by any cloud near and far on the sky that day. All of the dwarves enjoyed this pleasant vernal day, and Bilbo could catch some of them singing once or twice during their long walk. He didn't remember the last time he saw butterflies or bees flying around him, and he felt like a child again.

He felt good, and it made him happy.

On where they were going, Gandalf was pretty mysterious. He did not tell more than what was necessary, which was that they were going to pay a visit to a man who lived in the forest, east of the Great River, but still in a safe distance from Mirkwood. Bilbo was quite happy about the latter. All he heard of Mirkwood (from Rhadagast the Brown, for example) was the dangers that awaited them, and he wasn't pleased to think about going in there. Eventually, however, they would reach that part of the journey, but until then, he tried to not think about it.

Gandalf promised the dwarves that the man whose identity wasn't about to be revealed, was surely going to let them rest in his Hall for a while, providing them food, ponies and everything they needed to continue their quest. Thorin seemed a bit suspicious, though, as well as most of the dwarves, but they couldn't say no to Gandalf, not when they had nothing to eat and nowhere to sleep. If they were to survive this journey, they had to trust the wizard, whether they liked it or not.

Bilbo wasn't worried about their destination. He felt quite content, actually, and he was crooning an old hobbit song that his mother used to sing during cooking when Gandalf was suddenly walking next to him. It wasn't too difficult to catch up with the hobbit, after all.

"How do you feel, my lad?" asked the wizard casually. Bilbo looked up at him with slight surprise in his eyes.

"Quite alright, I suppose. Thank you for asking," Bilbo said. "Is it of any importance?"

"I am only asking because Thorin mentioned something that worries me. I was looking for you at the Carrock for this very reason earlier."

Confusion creased the hobbit's brow.

Maybe it is about the ring, Bilbo thought. Despair clouded his mind for a second, and his hand absentmindedly wandered to his vest pocket where he kept the ring for the time being. He was really glad he didn't leave it where it slipped off his finger last night. It gave him some kind of comfort that nothing else could've given him, and he made sure that no one would notice him using it. It wasn't something to play with, after all.

"He told me you had discovered a strange cavern before you were taken as prisoners by the goblins," said Gandalf, something dark glimmering in his eyes. "Is it true?"

 _Oh, so it's only about the cave_ , Bilbo sighed with relief, but he was careful to hide it from Gandalf. At the mere thought of that cavern he felt joy overflowing him, and he couldn't hold back a smile.

"It is," Bilbo nodded with enthusiasm, but it didn't reduce the amount of worry on the wizard's face. "It was a wonderful cavern with nightingales, huge dripstones, a waterfall and a woman on the middle of it."

"A woman?" Gandalf asked with surprise, and Bilbo's smile widened.

"A woman indeed," he nodded again. "She was lying under a willow with her back to me, so I couldn't see her face. But that place most certainly contained magic, Gandalf, I could feel it. I have never felt such happiness in my life before."

"You seem very talkative on this matter," the wizard noted, but Bilbo couldn't see a single happy expression forming on his face. It made the hobbit anxious for some reason.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Bilbo furrowed his brows slightly, and, with a deep breath, he looked up at the sky. "It was gone after we left it, though. I don't think I will ever find it again."

Gandalf didn't say anything, just kept walking without a word, keeping himself to the speed of the hobbit. Bilbo never liked when the wizard fell into such silence, so he decided he would tell Gandalf about that strange man he dreamed about in the cave under the Mountain. Maybe the wizard had something to say about him.

"Is it possible that I met a wizard in the cave below the Misty Mountains?" the hobbit asked suddenly, drawing the wizard's attention immediately. Gandalf had seemed more alarmed than ever.

"You met someone there? Why didn't you tell me right away?" the wizard sounded desperate, and Bilbo started to feel really terrified now. The bliss caused by the sunny weather and the gratifying bath was long gone, and he just noticed that all the dwarves were standing around them, listening to their conversation. He felt the tip of his ears burning.

"I... I didn't think it was important," Bilbo muttered and did not dare look into the wizard's eyes. "It was a dream."

"You had time fo' dreamin' while we were almost slayed by those goblins?" Gloin asked with naked contempt, but Gandalf quickly waved him off.

"Let him talk! Tell me, Bilbo, who did you see?"

The hobbit didn't like the sudden attention that everyone was giving him, and he could feel at least thirteen pairs of eyes staring at him. He tentatively raised his head, hoping he could find anyone with a face that didn't radiate disbelief and doubtfulness, but the first dwarf he saw was Thorin, and, as always, the look in his eyes was absolutely unreadable.

Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to bring up that dream, after all.

"At first I thought he was an elf," Bilbo started and immediately swallowed as he could hear the growls of dislike around him. "But I felt like he was something different, once he started talking to me. He was kind, though, and he told me I had to worry about the future, for it held many dangers. Now I can see he meant the wargs and the orcs."

"Did he tell you anything else?" Gandalf sounded urgent, and Bilbo nodded.

"He told me his name," the hobbit shrugged. "He is called Lórien, if what he told me was true."

Bilbo had never seen such look on the wizard's face before. It contained at least a hundred kind of emotions, and the relief that washed over him was almost tangible. None of them seemed to understand his reaction, but the small smile Gandalf gave the hobbit after he took a deep breath put Bilbo's heart at ease, even if only a bit.

"Is anyone going to tell us what that means?" Fili asked when no one else seemed willing to break the silence, but Gandalf only laughed heartily and grabbed his staff with renewed strength.

"You will learn everything when you are meant to, young prince," he smiled, and Bilbo felt a shiver running down his spine. Lórien told him the very same thing, and the suspicion immediately awakened in Bilbo that the wizard might've known more than what it seemed. Which wasn't all that surprising, since the old rascal always knew more than what he was willing to share. Somehow, though, it was different this time.

Bilbo knew it was.

The walk until Gandalf called out for everyone to stop wasn't much longer from there. It wasn't as pleasant for the hobbit, for a reason everyone could understand. He could still feel his face burning, and he felt a strange kind of shame building in him, like he did something unacceptable. Gandalf did nothing to ease his struggles, which made everything worse, and, for the rest of the trip, Bilbo was walking as the last in line, feeling actual sadness that he hadn't felt for a very long time now.

Once they stopped, they were facing a cluster of wooden buildings with a huge gate in the front. Beyond the gate were gardens, and the place seemed so peaceful that all the dwarves were letting out yearning moans, some of them sidling closer until Gandalf stepped forwards and cut their ways. The wizard didn't seem pleased at all.

"Beorn is not fond of strangers, especially not in such a huge number," said Gandalf, eyeing the dwarves with an expression that reminded Bilbo of his father. He couldn't help the sad smile that tugged at his lips. "You must be careful not to annoy him, or-"

"Now that is something I do not often see around my household."

The deep, gruff voice came from behind them, and all of the company of fifteen (including Gandalf) turned around swiftly, looking for the owner of such hostility. They didn't have to search for long, since the huge, black bearded man wasn't a sight that could easily fade into his surroundings.

Bilbo was surprised the ground didn't start shaking beneath them as this massive man approached. He wasn't quite sure this Beorn was to be called a man at all.

"What do you want here?"

Even his eyes seemed bigger than Bilbo's full height, and it terrified the hobbit. Beorn had great bare arms and legs with knotted muscles, and the way he stared at the halfling would've been enough to make Bilbo pass out, had he not felt Thorin's hand on his shoulder all of a sudden. Bilbo could not tell when the dwarf sneaked up on him, but he was overwhelmed with the relief that the king was beside him.

"We meant not to barge in your home," Thorin started, his voice low and steady. Had Bilbo not been so utterly anxious under the gimlet eyes of the huge man, he wouldn't have been able to tear his glance from Thorin's face. "We were only seeking shelter."

"Ah, so you wanted to invade my household without consulting me first?" Bilbo didn't think Beorn's voice could sound even more angrier than what he had already heard, but it seemed he was wrong. He could've sworn the loud cry made the whole house jump behind them, and from the squeeze that Thorin gave his shoulder, he assumed the dwarf was similarly startled.

"Why, of course we did not mean to do such a thing," Gandalf shot a frown at Thorin then turned back to the panting giant. "We were hoping you would be there so we could ask you this mere favour, in exchange for us being at your service."

"I need none of your services," Beorn grunted, but he didn't seem to be as crossed with Gandalf as he was with the others. Possibly because he was the tallest of the company, although, still an awful lot smaller than Beorn. "Who are you anyway?"

Bilbo felt a glimmer of hope awaken in him as he saw Gandalf smiling at the huge man. Did it mean they weren't to be chased away or, even worse, torn to shreds, limb by limb?

"My name is Gandalf the Grey. And may I present you Thorin Oakenshield, the leader of our company," Gandalf bowed his head to the direction of Thorin, and Bilbo felt the slightest of disappointment once he realised the dwarf's hand was gone from his shoulder. He did feel positively safer with the king by his side, but Thorin was stepping forwards now, to face Beorn properly.

"I am Thorin, son of Thrain, King under the Mountain. King of the dwarves," he added, obviously seeing confusion on Beorn's face, but it soon gave place to an absolutely different emotion. Recognition, maybe. Bilbo couldn't put his finger on it.

"So these small creatures are your kin," Beorn furrowed his bushy black eyebrows, his eyes eventually stopping on Bilbo again. The hobbit sighed with frustration. This questioning look really wasn't helping the halfling to feel alright with his special position. Everyone seemed to notice him first. "What about that little fellow?"

Bilbo swallowed hard. He looked at Gandalf, begging the wizard to help him, but he was only smiling at him reassuringly.

 _It's not the help I needed_ , Bilbo thought sullenly. He took a deep breath and collected every ounce of courage in his small body. There wasn't much to find, but he tried his best to not faint as he looked up at Beorn, clearing his throat briefly before speaking.

"My name is Bilbo Baggins," said Bilbo, his voice loud and clear. He could feel Thorin's eyes boring into him, but he did not look away from the giant man. "And I am a hobbit of the Shire."

"A hobbit?" Beorn asked and Bilbo was surprised to hear amusement in his voice. "What would a hobbit do in the company of dwarves?"

"He is under my protection," Gandalf spoke, drawing everyone's eyes at him. Sometimes Bilbo just couldn't understand this ability of the old man, or why he was so seldom using it. Maybe it came with his powers, to grab everyone's attention, but now was a time that the hobbit was most certainly happy the wizard had put himself in the centre of the conversation. Hobbits weren't good in speaking with huge men, after all. They hardly ever saw one, and those they saw were never this big. "We have heard of your kindness, and, since we have quite a journey behind us, we would be grateful beyond belief if you would have us until we can continue on our way."

Beorn seemed really troubled after listening to Gandalf, and he had been thinking in silence for long seconds before he said anything. When he did, though, his face was definitely softer than before.

"You two," Beorn pointed at Gandalf and Bilbo, making the hobbit freeze to the very spot where he was standing. He had just started to feel a tiny bit comfortable, and now this giant was pointing his huge finger at him? To breathe he had hardly dare, let alone to move anywhere. "You can come in and tell me more about your journey. I won't let a crowd of beggars invade my house so easily," he growled, and Bilbo noted that the ground did shake under his weight once Beorn started to walk towards his house.

The hobbit didn't have much time to think about it, though, for Gandalf grabbed his elbow and started pulling him after the man. Once, however, the wizard did turn back and looked over the disappointed company, daring them with his eyes to complain even a word.

"Keep your ears open, for once Beorn had heard the story, I will whistle, and you will come in."

The dwarves nodded wryly, moving to sit down under the ancient oaks that girdled around the road, and Gandalf let them.

Until they kept their lips sealed, no harm could come to them.

At least not here, the wizard had hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't wait any longer to upload this chapter, because I don't like making you suffer. You still have to wait for the proper explanation of everything until the next chapter, but I still hope you liked this one, too.
> 
> I would like to thank everyone who commented and gave me kudos, I really appreciate it. I love reading your comments, and if you have any thoughts, ideas, anything, feel free to share it with me. I don't bite. :3


	5. Rest Is Her Gift

Gandalf telling them they would leave at first light was really not something that Bilbo was joyous to hear about.

Almost a week they spent with Beorn. Despite the first impression and the fear that Bilbo was overcome by whenever that giant (more precisely, skinchanger, as it turned out) came a bit too close to him, the hobbit grew fond of the place. He spent long hours in the gardens, just walking around aimlessly and eating apples. It reminded him of the Shire, and when he closed his eyes and sat down to bath in the sunshine, he actually felt like he was at home. It was a merry feeling.

He remembered the days when his mother took his hand and they walked to the forest. Between the trees was a small clearing with an old oak in the middle; that was where all the thrushes liked to gather and sing, from very early in the afternoons until the last rays of light dissapeared in the hiding of the forest. There they stayed for long hours with Belladonna, singing songs with the birds and reading books about the adventures of rangers, elves and dwarves. He would have never imagined he could be a part of such an adventure one day.

That tree was theirs, and, unless it was raining, they spent every afternoon there. Bilbo curled up in his mother's lap, in the shadow of the ramage. He often caught himself thinking back to those days, when everything seemed so simple and peaceful. In the gardens of Beorn, lying on the grass and staring up at the bright blue sky, Bilbo realised that those feelings could never fully come back, even with the skinchanger's generosity.

For yes, he was one of the most generous men Bilbo had ever met.

Apples weren't the only food he was free to put his hands on anytime he wanted to. Every day, Bofur forced him to eat more and more until he was stuffed, and not once it caused uneasy nights for the halfling. The enormous wooden table in the main hall was always full of goods like several kinds of stew, fried fish, freshly baked bread and biscuits. He used to eat a good lot back at home, six times a day to be quite precise, but never this much. He could feel the weight he put on, even after a few days. His vest seemed to be just a bit too tight on the fourth day already, and the dwarves laughed heartily when he was fool enough to mention it to Bombur. By the next morning everyone knew about it, and Bilbo's face was lobster red from the embarassment. Even Thorin had a small smile touching his lips while his friends were laughing more than anytime in the last week.

_Thorin._

Well, Thorin was an entirely different part of their stay at Beorn's Hall; a part that Bilbo found extremely hard to not think about.

Bilbo wasn't a stupid hobbit, and he could figure out the reason behind the strange burning feeling he felt since the goblin cave. He knew it had to do something with being separated from Thorin, and, after this realisation, he tried to stay close to the dwarf king at all times. He tried to do it as casually as he possibly could, since he didn't want to put Thorin in an uncomfortable situation, but he soon noticed that the dwarf might have done the same as him. The hobbit had always seen Thorin wherever he went, but the dwarf never came too close, in case Bilbo wanted some private time for himself. They never talked about it, but they both knew about it, and it was the oddest set-up Bilbo had ever seen.

He actually wanted to gather his courage and mention it to the dwarf king, but he never found the occasion fitting. He couldn't keep it to himself, though, and he felt restless to get his answers, so he turned to someone else, whom he was not so frightened to talk to.

Bilbo went to Gandalf.

Three unperturbed days they spent at Beorn's place when Bilbo finally saw his chance. It was only the two of them around the great table in the main hall, right next to the dying fire. It was a strange room, with a gap on the ceiling where the smoke could easily leave. Bilbo liked to stay there, though, for the air was fresh, yet, no loudly buzzing insect would disturb his smoking procedure or ruin his smoke rings. He filled his pipe with his favourite Old Toby smoke-weed, while Gandalf used another, also pretty popular one, called Southern Star. It was a silent, clear night, with only the dwarves' snoring making a sound in the background. Bilbo couldn't keep his mouth shut any longer.

"I can't part from Thorin without being in agonizing pain," he spoke silently, looking up at the wizard sitting across him. Gandalf was a good three heads taller than him, even while sitting, and Bilbo usually tried to avoid eye-contact so his neck wouldn't hurt so much the next day from looking up all the time. Now, though, it was a different and more serious subject, and he had to see the wizard's expression with his own eyes. "It started in that strange cave that later simply vanished. You know what it is, don't you, Gandalf?"

The wizard's face was unreadable, but Bilbo saw how he was contemplating the answer in his head. The hobbit learnt how to solve Gandalf's expressions after a pretty short amount of time, and it wasn't as difficult as the wizard would've liked it to be. Gandalf was clearly trying to come up with the most perfect evasive answer so the hobbit would have something to think about but nothing else to ask, but Bilbo couldn't let it happen.

He needed his answers. And the needed them now.

"I want a clear response, Gandalf," he bowed his head and slightly furrowed his brows, hoping he would seem a bit more convincing. The amused look in Gandalf's eyes, though, wasn't the reaction that Bilbo expected, so he quickly added, "I am not interested in doublespeak, I only accept straight and satisfying answers."

Gandalf couldn't hide his entertainment after this and he smiled widely, blowing a huge smoke ring in the air that was floating over to Bilbo. It only disappeared once it wrapped itself around the hobbit's neck and the halfling let out a frustrated sigh. Was it so bad that Gandalf just didn't want to tell him the truth? But why would he be so calm, then? It didn't make sense, and the longer Bilbo had to wait, the more anxious he grew.

"You have a good brain, my boy, that is why I chose you for this quest," the wizard said after long seconds of cogitation. "That place you have described earlier, it was magical indeed. Its magic affected you and Thorin because you two were the ones to enter the cave."

Bilbo put his pipe on the table slowly, his eyes slightly widening. His voice was barely a whisper. "Is it dark magic?"

"No," Gandalf smiled with a kind glimmer of light dancing in his eyes. "It is the purest magic on Arda. What you've seen, Bilbo, is the rarest of illusions that only very few lives to see.

"The woman you have met is a Vala, a very powerful creature from the Years of the Lamps," Gandalf leaned forward on the table, his fingers delicately following the carvings on his pipe. Bilbo stared at the movements of the wizard's fingers like he was mesmerized. "Her name is Estë, and she is one of the seven queens of the Valar. She dwells in the gardens of Lórien, which you could catch only a glimpse of in that cavern. You have met her consort not long after that, Irmo, who introduced himself to you on the name Lórien. He is the lord of dreams, so meeting you in one is not so odd from him, I reckon you can see it now."

Bilbo could feel his jaw hanging. He was hoping that the moments in the caves would be only the tricks of his exhausted mind, the mere creations of his fantasy, but he had to see that it was not the case. He just met the most powerful creators of the world he now knows and loves, and he had not the faintest idea of this so far.

He felt dumb. He should've suspected all this.

"How are you so sure?" Doubt creased his brows, and Gandalf's smile widened.

"I used to live with them, my dear boy." The wizard looked painfully young once these words left his mouth, and Bilbo moved uncomfortably on his chair. He felt ashamed for questioning Gandalf, but he decided to stay silent and listen. His knowledge on this matter was limited to the tales his mother used to tell him when he was a only a lad, and that was most certainly nothing compared to Gandalf's acquaintance. "Irmo's sister, Nienna, is who I serve, but I have also spent a lot of time with Estë myself. She sleeps under an ancient willow tree during the days, and many Maiar serves her and her husband. I assume, for she is the healer of hurts and weariness, that she must've found something in you and Thorin that she wishes to mend."

Bilbo could do nothing but blink in awe. What in the name of everything that's sacred could a Vala do to Thorin and him? Not like they had anything in common, did they? They were ice and fire, day and night, hobbit and dwarf. Thorin was a king, whereas Bilbo was nothing but a halfling. He considered himself nothing special, nothing interesting, while the dwarf was full of life, full of fire, full of potential. Future held a lot for him, and Bilbo was willing to help him to get it. Aside from this, however, their paths would not cross each other's, and it planted an unsettling feeling in Bilbo's stomach.

It shouldn't have bothered him, really. Yet, for some reason it did, and Gandalf seemed to notice it as well, for he chuckled gently, drawing the hobbit's attention back to him immediately.

"This magic was meant for the both of you for a reason. You don't have to find everything out alone. I bet Thorin is just as interested as you are," the wizard winked at Bilbo gently, and the hobbit could feel the tip of his ears heating up. He took a long pull on his pipe and held the smoke in for a long time before blowing it out. It soothed him only the slightest. "When you see the occasion fitting, talk to him. Maybe he will grow to like you even more than he already does."

Bilbo almost laughed out loudly, but he kept it to himself. It was the joke of the century that Thorin liked him. He didn't want to disappoint the wizard with his pessimism, though, so he stayed silent and continued smoking.

The hobbit could let his mind roam, free of these thoughts in the next few days, right until the moment when Gandalf put an end to their peace. Bilbo was not the only one who seemed disappointed after realising they couldn't stay at Beorn's Hall forever.

Fili and Kili seemed outright depressed, for they really loved talking to the animals that served them, even if they couldn't quite understand each other. Bilbo had to remind the boys to think about Erebor waiting for them, to hold the picture of home in their minds, and to cling to it with all of their hearts. He knew what it was like to have a home, and Bag-End would wait for him until he returned. However, Fili and Kili weren't in such a lucky position, and they took the inspiring words of the hobbit well. They immediately started planning where in the Mountain they would sleep, which places they would love the most, and Bilbo could leave them to their dreaming with a smile.

The other dwarves weren't sad about the animals, more because of the delicious food and the hearty laughs they could afford themselves every night. They sat around the fire, singing songs and telling stories, and even the skinchanger listened to their past and present adventures with awe. After Gandalf and Bilbo made sure he would see a friendly gathering being on a quest to reclaim their homeland, rather than a crowd of beggars, Beorn seemed to take a liking to the dwarves, and he made sure they had not been short of anything. He never once nudged them to leave, and if it weren't for Gandalf, they would've stayed for much longer without being a burden for Beorn.

However, such as everything else in the world, the last day came to pass, and the night had come upon them, sooner than they thought.

Bilbo couldn't find a decent position to sleep in, despite of knowing that it could be his last chance for a proper rest in a long time. The air was warm, the fire was still popping and clicking outside on the veranda, and, on any other day, the sound of crickets and grasshoppers would've set his mind at ease just enough to fall asleep. Now, however, it seemed absolutely impossible, especially in the knowledge that Thorin was outside, all alone.

Somewhere deep in his heart, Bilbo felt bad for being aware of this. He shouldn't have know that it was Thorin, sighing deeply by the fire, running his rough fingers over his short beard, clearing his throat once in a while. He shouldn't have recognised his scent that the pleasant breeze of the early summer brought in the room, and it shouldn't have kept him awake. Nevertheless, it did, and Bilbo could do nothing about it.

He was lying for several more minutes, restless and being bored of staring at the ceiling when he took a deep breath and pushed himself to his feet. He was lying closest to the door, so he didn't have to walk for long to reach the veranda.

The dwarf was sitting with his back to the door, so he didn't see the hobbit at first. Bilbo didn't move from the doorstep, staring at Thorin with his heart beating rapidly in his chest. He didn't really know what to say. They had never done this before, never talked in private where no one else could hear them, where no eyes would follow the way their lips moved. It really was only the two of them, and Bilbo wasn't sure that he was ready for it.

Thorin wore a thin, blue shirt that hung freely around his bust, and his dark locks seemed improbably long in the dim light of the fire. Bilbo couldn't see the wide shoulders and the massive back because of the abundance of wavy hair everywhere around the dwarf, but he looked astonishingly tall, even with only his back facing the halfling.

Bilbo swallowed hard as he slowly walked towards the dwarf, gently sitting down in a good distance from him. He was surprised Thorin didn't at all seemed startled; it meant he heard him coming. The hobbit felt dumb for thinking he could frighten the king. Thorin wasn't afraid of anything, he should've known that.

The silence stretched long between them, none of them speaking to break it. It didn't seem to be uncomfortable for the dwarf, but Bilbo felt a lump growing in his throat. He tried to soothe it with clearing his throat, but it only made things worse, so he decided to put an end to the deafening silence.

"You seem tired," said Bilbo as casually as he could, but his voice was slightly trembling. He did not understand why he felt so anxious, but he did, doesn't matter how much he tried to ignore it.

"So are you," Thorin answered, his eyes lingering on the fire before him. He never once looked up at the hobbit, and it didn't help the halfling to brush off his discomfort. "We will have a long journey tomorrow. You should rest."

"I can't sleep," Bilbo stared into the fire as well, watching the flames with amazement. They always looked different. Almost like snowflakes, he thought, but he kept it to himself. "I will miss this place."

Thorin's voice was gentle. "We can't risk the orcs finding us."

"I know."

Another long minute of silence settled between them as they both tried to gather their thoughts. Bilbo wanted to speak about so many things that he didn't quite know where to start. What should he ask? Should he question the things that happened in the cave before their separation? Should he question the magical bond they were both aware of but never really talked about? Should he question the scar on Thorin's chest, the scar that Gandalf didn't want to share his knowledge on? The scar that's sight Bilbo couldn't push aside, doesn't matter how hard he tried to?

The hobbit had a cavalcade in his head, and he didn't know how to set it right.

"I would like to apologise... For the things I'd said in that cave," Thorin's voice was rough, like he wasn't used to saying things like that. Bilbo was taken short by this sudden apology, and his eyes widened in surprise. "I think I said those things only because of the crucial stage; yet, this is not an excuse. I was cross with you for something you were not to be blamed for."

Bilbo digested the confession for a few seconds before he took a deep breath. He tried to hide his daze as much as he could when he spoke.

"I acted quite foolishly, actually," Bilbo shrugged and stared down at his toes. Anything was better than looking directly at Thorin. "That strange place crazed me. I should be the one apologising."

Thorin fell silent, and the hobbit couldn't help himself. He looked up only to meet the dwarf king's fiery blue eyes staring right through him, and Bilbo's stomach dropped immediately. A pleasant warmth washed over him, like a hot bath after running in the cold rain, and the halfling realised he wasn't breathing for quite a while now. Thorin's gaze was so intense it almost set him on fire, and it felt like a thousand butterflies were taking over in his stomach.

He had never felt anything like this before, and he had never thought he would ever do. Yet, here he was, trying to force his brain to work again.

Thorin looked away first, and the hobbit could've sworn the king's cheeks had a light pinkish hue to them. On any other day, he would've smiled at that, but not in that moment. He could barely function, let alone smile.

"What kind of foolish games the ancient powers are playing with us, I do not know. But we will have to look out for each other from now on, we will have to help each other," Thorin nodded, as if he was trying to emphasize what he was saying. "We have to stay side by side."

"We can't see the dangers of the future, Your Majesty," Bilbo murmured, looking back at the fire when Thorin was no longer watching him. "We cannot be sure whether the worst is already behind us or not. And I cannot promise you I won't get in trouble."

"I won't let any harm come to you."

Bilbo looked up after hearing the utter surety ringing in Thorin's voice, and the hobbit's heart was pounding so hard, he feared it could jump out of its place any moment now. Thorin's gaze was soft and promising, and Bilbo realised he was missing this sort of safety for way too long now.

Thorin was giving it back to him, with a mere look.

"I know I am not easy to travel with," Thorin began on a firm but gentle voice. "I also know you find it hard to trust me, but if we want to survive this journey, we will have to change that."

He fell into a comfortable silence that Bilbo did not want to break. The hobbit knew it was not his time to speak, so he sat with curiosity building inside him, until the dwarf finally spoke again.

"I had a brother," Thorin started on his usual rough voice, his eyes staring right into the fire. "His name was Frerin. We grew up together, we fought together. We were like Fili and Kili, inseparable, like cup and can. We weren't only brothers, we were best friends. And he was the best friend that anyone could ever wish for."

Bilbo couldn't tear his eyes from Thorin. The dwarf's face contained thousands of different emotions in a wide range from sadness to sheer beatitude. The hobbit had never seen Thorin like this, and he doubted he ever would again. He wanted to burn this picture into his mind, to always remember the dwarf like this, not with that scornful look in his eyes that haunted him from the very first moment. This person in front of him, this was Thorin, not the one in the goblin cave. He really tried to believe that.

"We went to the battle of Azanulbizar together," Thorin continued with a dark glimmer in his eyes, and Bilbo knew things would go wrong from this point in the story. "I can remember pulling his head close to mine for the last time before the fight. I told him I would kill him if he didn't come back. He laughed and held my head, saying he would take me at my word. That was the last time I have ever seen him."

The hobbit shuddered when he met the eyes of the dwarf king, and he had to swallow if he hadn't wanted to cry. He had no idea someone could have such a far cry in their behaviour when they acted like a king and when they were nothing more than a brother of someone. A brother who lost way too much. Bilbo was familiar with these feelings, since he also lost people he loved more than anything, yet, he knew it was nothing compared to the loss of Thorin. He lost his brother to the hands of the orcs, to Azog, while Bilbo's parents had long, rich lives and passed away without anyone being perplexed about it.

Anyone but Bilbo.

While he was a young lad, the hobbit always thought his parents would never die. He was sure they would always be there for him, the old oak tree would always stand in the clearing, the bruises he got when he fell too hard would always be healed by the tender hands of his mother. He never doubted any of it, right until the day his father was gone, and, eight years later, his mother had followed him. He remembered going down the forest path every day in the beginning, bringing flowers to lay them on the soft grass. He also brought a book to read out loud, so his mother wouldn't get bored if she was there. Then, as the weeks grew into months and the months into years, he didn't go there so often anymore, and, after two years, he visited the oak tree only twice a year. On his mother's birthday, and on the day she died.

He hadn't been reading anymore, though, but he always brought the flowers.

Thinking about how Thorin didn't have the chance to remember his brother in a place like the old oak tree for Bilbo, made the hobbit unbelievably sad. Thorin didn't have a home in the first place, and he didn't have a sacred little spot to go when he wanted to feel close to Frerin.

Bilbo was glad he came back to the company in the end. He decided he would give Thorin a place where he could remember his brother, at any cost. He would conquer the whole of Mirkwood all alone and kill Smaug without a blink if he had to, for he had a true reason now. He would not let Thorin down, and it gave him power.

The hobbit did not know how long they were staring at each other, nor whether he missed something that the dwarf said while he was deep in his thoughts or not. The next thing he noticed was the movement of Thorin's hand as he pulled away the neck of his shirt slightly, and Bilbo could see the huge scar again, sending shivers over his body.

"This is the only thing I have that reminds me of him," Thorin spoke gently, the darkness in his eyes absolutely gone. Bilbo was surprised to see a smile lingering around his lips, but he stayed silent. "We weren't yet grown-ups when our father took us to our first hunting. Everyone was chasing a deer when a wolf attacked us, out of nowhere. It jumped at Frerin's throat, but I shoved him out of the way so it took me instead. My father shot an arrow through its head before it could've torn up my throat, but I had several gashes and I was bleeding hard. In the end, though, this scar was the only one that stayed with me.

"They took me back to Erebor and I had to stay in bed for weeks because of the severe pain and fever heat. My mother was staying at my bedside from dawn til midnight, and I had never seen my father so angry before," Thorin's smile widened, like he was the same mischievous young lad as he used to be, and Bilbo couldn't help but grin at the sight. The dwarf hardly ever forgot about himself completely, but it was not the time to be a king. He could be himself, and Bilbo was more than happy to see this side of Thorin as well. "He told me I was reckless and I could never go to hunt with him again. I didn't believe him for a second, of course, it was only the anger talking from him. I was way too proud of myself to take him seriously."

Thorin stared into the space in front of him without looking at anything in particular, then turned his look back to Bilbo. The hobbit was still smiling but he did not dare break the moment with saying something that wasn't appropriate. The dwarf's soft face was something he knew he wouldn't see again for a very long time, not until they reclaimed Erebor, so he tried to memorize it the best he could.

"I only told you all this because I trust you," Thorin said, his voice low and tender. "You saved my life and it is a debt I doubt I could ever repay. I only hope you will be able to trust me one day, Master Baggins."

Bilbo blinked a few times before he slightly shook his head and took a deep breath.

"It's Bilbo," he said, his smile remaining the same on his face. "Call me Bilbo."

***

They were having their last breakfast on the next morning when Gandalf rushed into the hall, his breathing heavy. He told them Beorn caught an orc wandering around his Hall last night, and that they had to hurry.

The company was on its way not fully fifteen minutes later, their breakfast cold and unfinished on the table of Beorn's Hall. Bilbo knew it was the last proper meal they had had for a while, for the Mirkwood was standing out at the end of the path in front of them.

And Bilbo still wasn't anticipating this journey. He really wasn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this particular chapter. This is the first step on the long way leading to Thilbo being the ship that sails the seven oceans, and I really love their heart to heart.
> 
> I would like to thank everyone who commented and hit kudos again, you are magnificent. I love reading your opinions, and I hope you are all satisfied with the explanation of the cave-scene in this chapter. ;) Tell me what you think.
> 
> Next chapter in a few days - and another adventure begins!


	6. Bring Me Back To The Start

Bilbo could barely walk from exhaustion. His legs felt like they could've collapsed underneath him at any moment and the burning on his skin was almost unbearable. Where he was going, he didn't know, neither the last time he had a proper rest. It seemed like they were marching for weeks now, when, as a matter of fact, they have been walking for mere hours.

Elves led the way to the huge cave. Dark grey stormclouds were cresting above on the sky; it was dangerously close to a downpour, and the way the thin bridge that crossed the Forest River was lurching didn't suggest any good. Bilbo felt the hot wind on his skin less and less as they approached the entryway, and a tall, blonde haired and grim faced elf, their leader, raised his hand. The group of at least twenty elves and the twelve dwarves (plus Bilbo) stopped, and Bilbo barely had the strength to stare up at the huge stone doors as they suddenly opened.

Then, the elf spoke for the first time, loud and clear.

"Welcome to the Halls of Thranduil, the King of the Woodland Realm."

**5 DAYS EARLIER**

" _What_?"

The whole company of Thorin yelled as one person - a really desperate one. However, none of them was as bereft of hope as Bilbo. The hobbit felt like crying, actually, and he did not hide it as much as he would've liked to.

"You can't leave us, wizard!" Thorin stated, his voice full of exasperation. Had it not been for Gandalf, still they would've known nothing of the strange bond that Estë put on the king and Bilbo, nor would they have survived the series of misadventures. Now, it seemed quite unescapable that they would be left alone to wander in Mirkwood, due to the 'serious and urgent business' the wizard had to take care of.

Bilbo didn't trust Gandalf at first, but, with the passing of time, quite fond of the old man he had grown, and he did not want to be alone amongst the dwarves. Not like he had been at variance with any of them, but he still felt like a stranger in this company sometimes, despite the warm gaze of Thorin that seemed to follow him everywhere. These lads were decent enough and their kindness towards the hobbit was deepening to all intents and purposes, but Bilbo rarely walked with them, and he had nice conversations mostly with the wizard. He did not want him gone.

"Isn't there anyone else to take care of that business?" Bilbo asked on a small voice, so small it was almost lost amongst the dissatisfied growls of the dwarves. Gandalf heard it, though, and, with a warm smile, he knelt before the halfling and laid his palm on the top of his head.

"I'm afraid there isn't," he shook his head, softly ruffling Bilbo's locks. "I am needed elsewhere, in a place where no one else but I can help. But do not fret, for it is not the last time you see me, Master Baggins."

Bilbo looked up at him, the lack of hope evident on his face. Gandalf rose to his feet with a smile. The hobbit did not quite understand what could be more important than their survival in the worst parts of Mirkwood, but he did not keep arguing.

"Where should we go from here?" asked Bofur with absolute perplexity, and the others started nodding in agreement.

"How long is it until we reach the end?" asked Nori.

"How can we know we are taking the right path?" asked Fili.

"What do we do when we run out of food?" asked Bombur, thinking of the most practical question right away, and Gandalf laughed.

"I am not to be away for too long, my dear dwarves," he said. "Although, I am afraid that giving you more food once it's all gone is not in my power, so you wouldn't have any use of me with that.

"On the other hand, you better follow the path that lies ahead of you, and never leave it. Stray only once and you will have to face unforeseeable consequences," the wizard's smile faded. Bilbo never liked that tone, dripping with forewarning and threat, and he swallowed hard as he turned to look at the path that lay behind him so far. It seemed gloomy and wintry, despite the season of late-spring all around Middle Earth. He started to feel the yearning for the Shire again, but he shoved the thought out of his mind and turned back to Gandalf.

"You talked about a lake earlier," Thorin noted, his eyes dark and his face tired. He had seemed tired by that campfire back at Beorn's Hall already, but never this much, Bilbo said to himself as he studied the dwarf silently. He had the chance, since everyone was paying attention to Gandalf.

"It is not a lake but a running water, flowing fast but not wide in about four days walk from here," the wizard answered, on a voice heavy with worry and glumness. "You cannot miss it, and you must not drink or touch it, on no condition."

"And why is tha'?" Gloin asked, quickly earning a frown from Gandalf.

"There is no telling what shall it do to you once it is drunk or simply touched, Gloin, son of Groin. I warn you not to underestimate the power of dark magic that took over these woods," Gandalf said, looking up at the huge, dark trees that blocked the rays of the sun from heating the skin of the dwarves. Bilbo could've used some sunlight himself, for sure. "It was once a nice place, guarded by the Wood Elves. Now it's rotten and, sadly, I see no chance to bring it back to its original glory."

"We have no time to waste, then," Thorin spoke loudly, waking the dwarves from their thoughts. There was no sign of softness on his face, and many of his company was bothered by the mournful mood their leader was in. Not like they weren't used to it, really. "I want to reach the end of this damned forest as soon as possible."

"Good way of thinking indeed," Gandalf agreed, grabbing his staff firmly. "I will let you go on your way. Oh, did I forget to mention? You must send back the ponies to Beorn at once, it would not be wise to take them into the woods."

Some of the dwarves just mounted their ponies and stared back at the wizard with utter disbelief on their faces. Bilbo would've found it amusing on any other day, but not today. Today, he had a gut feeling that he just couldn't seem to shake off.

"Seriously?" Fili and Kili moaned in sync, but they eventually dismounted and kept sighing dramatically.

Bilbo was thinking about asking Gandalf if he could just go with him instead of staying with a group of moody dwarves, but then he remembered his place in the plan and bowed his head low. He couldn't let them down, and he had to remind himself of the promise he made to Thorin, without the dwarf even knowing. He had to hold on for that, and he couldn't run away. A couple hundred (or thousand, more likely) dark trees couldn't scare him off, could they?

"Gandalf," the hobbit spoke eventually, silently enough so only the wizard could hear him. The others were stocking themselves up, taking the burdens from the ponies. For once, the ponies seemed relieved and the dwarves absolutely annoyed. "Do you really think I can do it?"

"My dear boy," Gandalf knelt before him again, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Had your mother ever told you about her adventures?"

Bilbo seemed to fall into deep thinking on that. He remembered his mother's tales very vividly, but they were mostly stories from books and chronicles his father was proud to have in his collection. Belladonna had her favourites, of course, and she told those more than the others, but Bilbo would've never thought some of them might've been real. There were several gossips on his mother, but he never listened to those whispers. He only had ears for his mother.

"I... I don't think she did," Bilbo answered eventually, noticing a glimmer of light in Gandalf's eyes.

"She could've told you many tales, Bilbo Baggins," he nodded with a soft smile, almost nostalgically. Bilbo found it strange but said nothing. "She was a Took to the core of her very being, driven by the desire to see the world and all the kins that Arda could offer her. She asked me to take her on an adventure, and I did."

Bilbo gaped with awe.

"You took my mother on an adventure?" It was more like a statement than a question, but Gandalf just heartily laughed at the look of the small hobbit.

"Indeed, I did," he nodded, and Bilbo could see the same expression that he noticed earlier, the one that made Gandalf seem so young. It warmed his heart to see the wizard like that. "She was brave, braver than many men I have seen, and, believe me when I say this my dear Bilbo, I have seen a lot."

"Did she fight?" Bilbo caught himself becoming more and more curious, longing to know the details of the journey his mother never told him about, wondering how much he could've learnt from her if only he had had the chance.

"No, she didn't have to," Gandalf shook his head. "It wasn't a dangerous adventure, for I did not want to put her in the harm's way. I merely showed her and her brother, your uncle Isengar, the world beyond the Shire.

"Sometimes, though, when she looked upon the seas of unknown realms, I could see the same fire in her eyes that I saw in yours when you rushed in to protect Thorin," the wizard said on his low, comforting voice, gifting Bilbo with one of his smallest and most gentle smiles. He carefully squeezed the hobbit's shoulder, urging the halfling without words to look up at him. "As long as you keep that fire in your eyes and the purity of your heart, my dear boy, you can bring this quest the success the dwarves seek so desperately."

Bilbo grew silent and stared at Gandalf with huge, wide eyes full of wonder, and the wizard patted his shoulder for the last time when Thorin broke the sudden silence.

"You should go then, wizard," he said not at all on a friendly tone, shaking Bilbo out of this pleasant state he found comfort in. "You are wasting your time, and we will need you to get back by the time we cross Mirkwood. Also, don't even think about luring our burglar anywhere."

"I have never thought of luring him away from you, Thorin Oakenshield," answered Gandalf, back on his feet again. Bilbo felt his cheeks flushing as he saw the smirk playing on the wizard's lips, but he just slowly sidled to where his pack lay. Bombur was standing close, giving him a wink as if he was trying to imply something. Bilbo only smiled awkwardly, stocking himself up with all the heavy bags he was meant to carry. "But you will have to look out for my burglar, or your fate is doomed. You are responsible for him."

"I know," the king said, his voice lower than ever before, and Bilbo tried to look everywhere but at the dwarves. He felt at least five pairs of eyes staring at him, but he ignored them as much as he could. "Be on your way now, Gandalf, and take care of yourself."

"I will. Don't leave the path, if you mean well for yourselves!" Most of the dwarves were already halfway through the mouth of the forest, slowly ambling along the path with their heavy packs. Only few of them stayed behind to see Gandalf mounting his white horse, trotting away on the way leading back to Beorn's Hall. "And any strange noise you hear, ignore it!" he shouted back, but once he disappeared after the first corner, Bilbo sighed resignedly.

 _I am left with these stubborn, grumpy dwarves for good_ , he thought to himself bitterly. He slightly jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he was surprised to see Bifur in front of him. Everyone else was already ahead in the forest, but the dwarf with the axe stuck in his head was standing there, a reassuring look in his eyes.

Bilbo was more than shocked, actually. It was the first time Bifur had ever tried to make some kind of contact with him, and Bilbo did not really blame him for it. Bofur told the hobbit that his brother had not spoken a word in the common language since he had the fateful encounter with the axe, so he barely talked at all afterwards. He seemed a good lad, nevertheless, and the way he was looking at Bilbo now, made the halfling feel a bit more welcomed.

The dwarf just nodded towards the others with his head, then let go of Bilbo's shoulder. They started walking after the company together, leaving Gandalf and Beorn's Hall behind for a good while.

***

Needless to say, their traversing of the running water wasn't at all unclouded.

The company could follow the path for a good while, even for days - Bilbo didn't really know. He completely lost his sense of time, and so did the other dwarves. Every tree, every stone, every place they camped were the same, and the only thing that differed was the amount of food they ate day by day. It was less and less, and Bilbo suddenly started missing the times in the beginning of their journey when he could pick several kinds of berries and droppings in the green forests. This forest, though, it was everything but green, and the things Bilbo saw on the bushes weren't at all delicious looking. He feared they would be poisoned, so he did not even try to pick them.

Water wasn't something they were smart enough to save in the first few days either, so, by the fourth day of their journey in the Mirkwood, they barely had any. Bilbo had none, since he gave most of his to Fili and Kili, and he tried to offer some to Thorin as well (under extremely awkward circumstances), but he ended up even receiving water from the king instead. He tried to refuse it as politely as he could, but Thorin wasn't the kind of person one could resist for too long. Bilbo usually found his bedroll with dark red cheeks after these short conversations.

As the distance grew between the company and the entry point of the forest, the dwarves' mood worsened gradually. After a couple of days, they completely stopped singing and laughing, and all they had done was sitting next to each other, staring at the small fire they could light. They didn't risk leaving the path for too long, so they couldn't find enough wood to make a proper fire either. Thorin didn't mind it. They didn't need any unexpected visitors in this strange and dangerous forest, and everyone understood that.

They found the small river just in time. They were about to give up every hope that they would ever find a way out of this terrible place when they saw the running water Gandalf had been talking of, and it restored a tiny bit of their strength. Bilbo was smiling for the first time in days, and he was the happiest to discover the boat that only waited for them to be used. It didn't seem particularly safe, but they did not have any other choice, so Thorin ordered everyone to cross the water in small groups. They did not know how much distance their bond could take without putting both of them in terrible pain, so they crossed the water first, with Balin by their side.

Most of them were managing well in doing the same, but the always hungry and now especially moody Bombur was the last to go. He was the biggest of them, and his ways seemed to be clumsy enough for the boat to tip over. Luckily, the water wasn't too deep and he wasn't in the danger of drowning, but there was an only slightly less bad side-effect to this little accident.

The enchanted water put him into a deep sleep.

By the time the dwarves could pull him out of the water, Bombur was sleeping like a baby, snoring peacefully with a smile on his face. Bilbo thought the company would skin him right there on the gravel, without a second thought, and had he not spoken, poor Bombur would've probably got the injuries he could got off light after falling into the water.

"It's not like he meant to fall asleep," Bilbo tried to reason with the dwarves, but he only achieved that they were angry with him instead of Bombur.

"It's not you who's gonna carry him, Master Burglar," Dwalin noted with a frown, and Bilbo fell silent. Now that Bifur was trying to reach out to him as well, Dwalin was the only one that didn't seem to like him quite much, and it pained the hobbit. He tried to dismiss the thought from his mind, though. He still had plenty of time to prove himself useful, even in the eye of Thorin's most trusted friend.

"Stop whining and carry him, we have to move quickly and find a place to camp," Thorin said dryly, and picked up Bombur's pack from the ground, swinging it over his shoulder.

Bilbo already felt like he could barely walk from the weight he had to carry on his back, but Thorin's pack seemed a hundred times heavier. He slowly approached the dwarf while the others were trying not to moan under the weight of Bombur.

"Do you want me to help with that?" Bilbo asked carefully, like he was afraid that Thorin would actually hear him. The wonder he had seen in the dwarf's eyes after the question surprised him, and he could hardly believe he actually caught the king off-guard, but that strange moment was gone as fast as it came.

"I hope I won't have to carry it for too long, and Bombur wakes soon," he answered, his face unreadable. "I will tell you when I need your help, halfling. Now come, sunset is almost upon us."

I told you it's Bilbo, the hobbit thought sadly, watching for a few seconds as Thorin walked ahead to catch up with the others.

Maybe Dwalin wasn't the only one to not like him so much, after all.

Despite the uncalled-for burden that was Bombur, the dwarves tried to believe the worst was already behind them. Bilbo still feared it would not be the end of this wretched forest, and he had never been so right in his entire life before.

Bombur woke the next night, mostly because he was too hungry to sleep. He immediately wished he hadn't woken once the company told him there was not enough food left to eat just yet, and the dwarves shared this desire of the biggest member of their group when Bombur started complaining. He just did not seem to stop, and he only held his mouth when he was sleeping. However, when one's stomach is constantly angry from the lack of nourishment, sleep isn't that easy to come.

Bilbo passed the nights with staring at the continous shell of leafage that shut out any light the moon or the stars could provide. Between the huge, darkened branches were cobwebs that Bilbo found fascinating and frightening at the same time. They were wonderful because they never looked the same and they were the most carefully detailed, but it frightened him to think about the huge monsters that could crawl up until the top of the trees and make those webs. He decided he did not want to encounter those creatures, not in his lifetime.

Not like he had a choice, he suspected, as he heard Kili and Fili call out for their uncle to come and see what they had found.

No one seemed too interested at first, assuming the lads saw something that wasn't even there or something even less meaningful, but when Thorin hissed at them to move and gather around him, excitement rose immediately. Bilbo was the only one whose brows were creased with worry once the idea of leaving the path behind was brought up.

"Gandalf strictly told us not to leave the path," he reminded them from the background, but nobody heard him. He was crowded out, again, and doesn't matter how hard he tried to make himself noticed, it wasn't working. The dwarves were way too desperate and way too hungry, and the fact that Fili and Kili saw lights nearby made all of them buzz with curiosity.

"Someone should stay behind, in case we can't find our way back," said Dori, his first thought apparently moving around Bilbo since his eyes found the hobbit right away.

"What about the pain?" Balin asked with slight worry, switching his look between the king and Bilbo. The hobbit was nodding violently, trying to make a point but he reached nothing.

"I can survive it. The hobbit can stay here," Thorin said on a voice low with desire to finally go and put his hands on some food at last, and, to Bilbo's greatest shock, it seemed to be settled with that.

"What?" he asked with disbelief. Some of the dwarves were actually looking at him now, but their eyes seemed distant, and their stomachs were probably too loud to hear the reason in Bilbo's voice. "Did you forget that Thorin is not the only one who feels that pain? You really want to leave me here, in the middle of Mirkwood, by myself?"

Everyone was silent, and Bilbo's heart was beating fast in his throat. He felt sick from the thought of being left behind, and he had never missed Gandalf so badly like in that moment. He wished the wizard was here to beat some sense into the hard skulls of the dwarves with his staff, but he wasn't. Bilbo was all alone, and he wasn't enough to stop the company from running into a possible trap, or even worse.

Their deaths.

He was just a hobbit, a Baggins from Bag-End, not a mighty wizard. And he wanted to scream from the defencelessness.

"The pain will help me to know where the camp is," Thorin spoke on an entirely different voice that Bilbo was used to, and the hobbit could do nothing but blink. "Once we found food, I will come back for you."

"Really?" Bilbo snorted, arms hanging helplessly next to his body. "And I should believe that? Because you look exactly like someone who would come back for me, after you are so ready to leave, despite the pain."

"Bilbo, just trust us," Kili spoke up, and he sounded almost pleading. Bilbo couldn't have been more shocked. "I swear we will come back for you, alright? Just let us go."

"It's ridiculous, I don't need the permission of a grocer," Dwalin growled on his usual, scornful tone, and it seemed to trigger something amongst the dwarves, for they started walking towards the woods, none of them looking back at the hobbit.

And Bilbo was left there, numb and burning, until he could stand no more and just fell to his knees, a desperate sigh leaving his trembling lips.

He was truly alone now, and only his pain was left to "comfort" him.

***

Bilbo felt like a ball of misery as he was lying on his bedroll, curled up like a child.

He had never been so alone in his entire life. There had always been someone nearby, even in the Shire or in the cave where he found that strange ring. In Bag-End, he had the neighbours who were less and less friendly with every day, but they respected him, since he had always been a respectable hobbit. So was his father, and his father before him, everyone knew that. (Where was that respect now, he wouldn't have been able to tell.) In that dark cave he only felt helpless for the first few minutes, until he found the ring. Afterwards, it was his company and led him out to the sunlight, helped him.

Now even the ring didn't give him any comfort.

He tried to put it on, playing with it around his finger, but he grew mad at it for being useless and put it back to his vest pocket with a distressed moan. (He had a new vest now, since his red one was almost completely ruined after the adventure in the cave and with the orcs. He still had it in his bag-pack, though, but Beorn could provide him another one in dark, pine-green colour. Light golden markings were sewn into its silky fabric, and the buttons were far more stronger than on his former one. It also had several pockets where Bilbo could put the ring and some handkerchiefs he could put his hands on. The hobbit was careful not to ruin this vest of his, so he always pulled the dark brown cloak over his shoulder to protect it. He managed well so far.) The ring could only stop the burning pain, but it didn't drive away the worry he felt in the pit of his stomach. Even the pain was better to distract himself with than to worry until he was one big anxious knot.

Bilbo did not know how long he had been lying there, trying to ignore the strange sounds that seemed to grow louder around him. He knew it was only his fear speaking, but he couldn't help clutching his bedroll tight between his fingers. He closed his eyes, thinking about just simply giving up and letting Mirkwood do the rest for him, but Lórien's words suddenly echoed through his mind, and his eyes flew wide open.

_"The future holds challenges for you, little hobbit. You should never let your guards down, for danger lies in wait for you everywhere you go. This is a long journey that must succeed, cost what it may."_

Bilbo knew what he had to do, and to stray from his mission was unacceptable.

He only needed a few more seconds until he slipped the ring on his finger and, leaving everything else behind, he disappeared in the woods after his friends.

 

Bilbo soon realised that if he wanted to follow the way his pain was leading him, he couldn't use the ring. However, with removing the trinket from his finger, he had to accept that every single dangerous creature might've been staring at him from the shadows, waiting for the most fitting moment to capture him and eat him whole.

He had no choice, though, so he slipped the ring in his pocket and slowly started sneaking between the trees.

The hobbit didn't dare turn back, for he knew he would only see the right path long gone in the distance. He could feel the peculiar sensation of being lost, for it was itching on his skin and he couldn't shake it off. Yet, he could also sense that he was moving in the right direction, since the indistinct noises of chattering were closer and closer. He was wondering if the dwarves had heard these sounds as well, in the dark of the night (Bilbo was truly doubting the sun had ever shone in these woods at all, even during daytime), and it was what elated them so badly. Once he drew nearer, all of these thoughts sank deep in the back of his mind, and he focused only on the way ahead of him.

The trees seemed to stand closer to each other in this small part of the forest, like they were closing in around something, and the hobbit hoped with all his heart that someone from the company would be there and he wouldn't be alone.

More than one dwarf were there, as it turned out. The thing Bilbo didn't expect was to see them again in such circumstances.

Twelve bundles, covered from top to bottom in cobweb were hanging on a rope from a tree in the middle of a circle, terrifyingly still, and Bilbo didn't have to think much to realise they were his friends. He was even more horrified to notice that, despite being near to the company again, the burning side-effect of the spell that bound him to Thorin wasn't soothing. It explained why he saw only twelve bundles instead of thirteen, and it made him not simply anxious but almost have a real panic-attack.

He was leaning to the back of a tree, breathing heavily as he tried to digest the sight he just witnessed, and there was nothing that stopped him from putting on the ring now. Bilbo was more than glad that he didn't stay in the camp, for he still had time to come up with something and save the dwarves. Not like they deserved it, really, after deserting Bilbo in such fashion, but the hobbit never was the one to stay resentful for too long. Death wasn't something anyone would deserve under normal circumstances, and the thought of leaving the company to the spiders didn't even cross the halfling's mind. He had to act, and he had to do it quickly.

Bilbo was quite sure he had followed the noises right and he was positive they came from this direction. The only thing that worried him was the absolute lack of the owners of those voices, and he had been too afraid to act... until he heard them again.

He wasn't happy at all to see what he'd been waiting for. It seemed he couldn't keep his oath to avoid meeting the creators of those nasty cobwebs after all, since four fat, pitch-black spiders were approaching from his right, bigger than any spider the hobbit had ever seen. They passed him easily, and Bilbo was grateful they didn't pick up his scent, otherwise, he would've been in great trouble.

 _One hobbit against four of these monsters_ , he thought to himself bitterly, and he quietly left his lurking place, entering the circle. He was careful not to step on a small twig or a dry leaf (there were plenty of them around here), and he was listening to the spiders' conversation.

"It was a sharp struggle, but worth it," said one. "What nasty thick skins they have to be sure, but I'll wager there is good juice inside."

"Aye, they'll make fine eating, when they've hung a bit," said another.

"Don't hang 'em too long," said a third. "They're not as fat as they might be. Been feeding none too well of late, I should guess."

"Kill'em, I say," hissed a fourth; "kill 'em now and hang 'em dead for a while."

"They're dead now, I'll warrant," said the first.

"That they are not. I saw one a-struggling just now. Just coming round again, I should say, after a bee-autiful sleep. I'll show you."

The thought of seeing the dwarves being eaten right in front of his eyes made Bilbo shiver. Somewhere deep inside he felt responsible for this truly difficult situation, after all, he should've insisted more to hold the dwarves back, but he was taken aback by the way Dwalin spoke to him. Now even the stubborn dwarf was in real trouble, and Bilbo knew if only he could save them, he could prove himself useful.

He stared down at the ground to look for something that could've been used as a weapon. The spiders were gathering around the dwarves, making dangerously hungry and impatient noises, and Bilbo grabbed the first thing he could reach.

A stone.

He had always been good at throwing things, ever since he was a young lad. It was probably the most adventurous thing his father had ever taught him, and he was fairly good at it. The stone he just picked up from the ground was perfectly fitting in his hand. There were several others where it came from, actually, so he picked up some more. He threw the first one just before the angriest looking spider could reach the biggest bundle, which Bilbo thought must've been Bombur. He was kicking desperately once he felt the spider nipping around his face, but it did no good - Bilbo's stone, however, did. Even the hobbit didn't know how he managed to aim so well, but there wasn't any time to celebrate his luck, for he had to run to the next tree if he didn't want the spiders to catch him.

"What was tha'?" one of the spiders asked, hurrying over to the spot where Bilbo was standing not fully five seconds ago. "Did you see somethin'?"

"There's something out there," another one said, joining the first in the searching. In the meantime, Bilbo got closer to the tree where the dwarves were hanging and threw another rock, right at the head of the spider standing the farthest away from him.

"Oww!" it squeaked, immediately turning around like it was poked on the back. The hobbit was already running ahead, making noises as loud as he could.

"Come and get me!" he yelled, but didn't feel so brave when the spiders actually started to follow his voice. It was his plan all along, but still, he was only a hobbit against these monsters. All he had was a sword he couldn't even use properly, and his best chance was to lure them away far enough so he could free the dwarves just in time. "Fat, nasty spiders! Do you want me to sing a song?"

"Don't you open your dirty mouth!" the fattest spider exclaimed, hurrying after the others from a good distance. He was the slowest, and Bilbo decided that once it left him behind, he could go back to the others.

He threw some more rocks far ahead for the faster spiders to follow, and, when Bilbo could hear their angry voices no more, he ran back to the company as fast as his short, tired legs could carry him. It was a mercy that the ring shut out the burning, otherwise, he would've collapsed a long time ago. He didn't know what would've happened to the dwarves then, but he didn't even want to think about it.

Bilbo pulled out Sting from its scabbard as he reached the small circle of trees again, and, after some tree climbing and a well aimed brandish, he cut off the first dwarf. He removed his ring before un-cobwebbing the dwarf, and was fairly surprised to see Kili under the white silky mess. He would've been happier to see the boy if his own body hadn't been on fire at the moment.

"Bilbo!" the young dwarf's face was shining behind the exhaustion, and Bilbo helped him to his feet, pulling out the dwarf's sword for him to hold.

"We don't have time now, Kili. Start cutting them down on the other end, hurry!"

Kili did as he was ordered and, with his shaking limbs, he cut off two more dwarves. Bilbo had done the same. "How did you find us?"

"Just keep cutting, I will tell you everything later," the hobbit breathed as he ripped up the thick cobwebs, only to see the dazed and surprised expressions of Bifur and Bofur. "You two, help us if you can! Those four can be back any moment now!"

They weren't in such good condition as Kili was, so it took them more time to stand up. They started looking for their swords on the wrong side of their swordbelts, and when they tried to pull them out, they usually stumbled back and were lying on the ground for a good ten seconds before they could collect themselves again. Bilbo sighed with exasperation, and, after seeing he would have no use of them in this business, he hurriedly climbed the branch again.

It was then when the spiders returned.

And their fury was nothing Bilbo would've liked to encounter.

"I thought you said there was only four," Bofur moaned desperately, and Bilbo swallowed hard. They were facing an army of spiders now, some of them bigger than the biggest the hobbit had seen so far, and he could feel the fear building inside him gradually.

"There was."

And then, the battle began.

Most of the dwarves were already cut down and freed from being netted, so they could fight. Their moves, however, were clumsy and they often fell, providing chance for the spiders to attack them. Bilbo kept cutting off the last members of the company and, in the meantime, he was swinging his sword behind his back as well to push down the spiders that were climbing up to get him. The dwarves could beat off most of them on the ground, killing a good lot with more work than they would've usually needed. However, it still wasn't enough. Even when all of them was freed, the spiders didn't seem to grow less in their numbers and the dwarves were too tired to fight. Bilbo could think of nothing else than to lure them away again. It could work with four, why wouldn't it work with more? All he had to do was to insult them, they seemed nettlesome enough to bite on the bait.

However, by doing that, he would have to give up the secret of his ring, and it wasn't something he would've liked to do.

Like always, he didn't really have a choice.

"I will disappear now and lure them that way," Bilbo jumped next to Kili who seemed the most sober from all of them, and showed the dwarf the direction he was talking about. It was difficult to make himself understood in the cavalcade of shouts and yells and screams, but Bilbo didn't have time to explain more thoroughly. "Most of them are going to follow me, you will have to run the opposite way and decimate them!"

"What do you mean you will disappear?" Kili shouted back, and, with utter disbelief written all over his face, he watched as Bilbo vanished in front of him.

The halfling hadn't felt such relief in his whole life like in that moment when the burning had finally stopped. He was wearied, exhausted, and he didn't need more pain than what was necessary. He started shouting nasty things at the spiders again, running off where he thought he had come from, and he was right, for most of the spiders were following him. He still had some stones in his pockets that he was planning to throw around to distract the monsters, but he never had the chance.

The elves came out of nowhere, spearing the spiders on their long swords like they were mere flies, and Bilbo stared at these tall, strong creatures with absolute awe. He dropped the stone he was holding, and stood behind an enormous tree, watching the fight with his jaw hanging. He hadn't seen elves since Rivendell, and, although they weren't the same kind, it made him feel safer anyway. They were trained soldiers, cutting through the spiders like they had been doing it for years, and the hobbit felt relief to have some time for a short rest.

When he made sure he was not in danger anymore, he removed his ring and cleared his throat loudly enough so the elves could hear him. He wasn't going to hide from them forever, after all.

"Uhm, excuse me," the hobbit said, his voice rough from the pain that suddenly washed over him, and he felt like he could collapse any moment now. "My friends, we... They are in trouble, they need help."

One of the elves came closer to him with a worried look on his face, while the others were rushing back to finish killing off the spiders. Bilbo only hoped the dwarves wouldn't do anything stupid once they would see the elves; the hobbit really didn't feel like being the justice of the peace after such a long day.

"What is your name, little one?" the elf asked, kneeling before the halfling. Bilbo could've cried at the kind words. He didn't really remember when was the last time anyone addressed him without disdain, and it felt better than anything else in the world.

"I am... My name is Bilbo Baggins, and I am a hobbit from the Shire," he answered, then he quickly remembered his manners. "I am at your service. Thank you for saving my life."

"I did not see you running from these monsters, but I am glad no harm came to you, Master Hobbit," the elf said firmly but with such softness in his voice that it felt like a balm on Bilbo's heart. "My kin will help spirit the spiders away so they can cause no more trouble. Then, we will take you and your friends to the Elvenking's Halls, just as we had been ordered to do."

Bilbo furrowed his brows, not quite understanding the whole situation. Since when did the elves know about them?

"On whose order?" he asked with confusion, and the elf gave him a small, reassuring smile.

"On the order of Thranduil, the Elvenking."

Bilbo closed his eyes slowly, letting out a deep breath.

 _The worse is already behind us, huh? Oh, the irony in that,_ he thought to himself, already hearing the dwarves moaning in the distance.

Like he didn't have enough problems already.

***

In the meantime, Thranduil, King of the Wood Elves was walking down a long corridor in his Halls. Several elves passed him by, bowing their heads at the leader of their kin - Thranduil did not even seem to notice them. He was heading to one particular room, a room in front of which two armed guards were standing. Once they laid their eyes on Thranduil, they opened the heavy wooden doors wide, and the king entered the room.

It contained everything a guest could yearn for, including a huge, soft bed of great value that only kings could afford themselves. Thranduil could afford it, and placing Thorin Oakenshield in one was a satisfaction he was almost guilty to feel. Almost.

He smirked at the sleeping king in front of him. He couldn't wait to face him once he awakened.

It was going to be a moment he would remember for a _very_ long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took the dialogue of the spiders directly from Tolkien.
> 
> Also, I know it's a long chapter, and mostly long chapters will follow afterwards. Those who are waiting for some ship-action I reassure, there will be plenty coming up. ;)
> 
> Thank you once again for the kudos and the comments, you guys are wonderful, and I really hope you will like the next chapter, too.


	7. In The Lion's Den

The land where Thorin woke could've been easily described with three words: it wasn't real.

The king didn't have to look for too long to see that. The pure, snow white marble pillars, the sound of birds he had never heard before, and the flowery scent in the air were nowhere to be found on Arda, Thorin knew that well. He might've not understood anything, lying on the bed filled with silken linens that he most certainly wasn't used to, but he felt no pain for the time being, and he appreciated every moment.

He remembered the last moments of being awake, still in the dark forest of Mirkwood. He feared for nothing but his kin - not for himself, nor for the quest he was near again to fail, but for his nephews who might never find their way out of the dark woods, and would eventually die from starvation. The thought of Bilbo Baggins, waiting for him to return crossed his mind as well, and the searing on his skin grew even more intense. His body shut down immediately, like it was defending itself from this unbearable pain radiating from the inside, and he knew no more.

Now, that he was woken again, he felt no such worry, nor that so familiar fear. He knew, deep inside his mind, that nothing had changed but he could easily shove these burdensome thoughts aside and focus on his surroundings instead.

Thorin slowly sat up on the bed, looking around with his body moving easily. He realised he only had his dark shirt on, with his dim grey trousers, and he felt immediate relief as he glanced at Orcrist on a table not too far from him. He didn't feel the need to pick it up, for he didn't seem to be in danger, but it felt safe to know that the sword was in reach, just in case.

The gentle laughter of a woman made him jump slightly with surprise.

"Thorin Oakenshield, descendant of the mighty Durin the Deathless. I am overjoyed to finally see you," she smiled. Thorin caught himself smiling back, and it brought him to the verge of complete shock. He hadn't felt such trust for someone unknown since he was only but a child, but he guessed if he really was in a dream just as he assumed, there was nothing to be afraid of.

The woman in front of him, he guessed, wasn't an ordinary woman. Thorin wasn't an expert in the field of females since he never encountered many in his life - there hadn't been an abundance of them back in Erebor, and they most certainly hadn't looked like her -, but the kind didn't need skill to put two and two together. This wonderful creature had long, auburn locks with a star formed tiara on her forehead. She was dressed in green robes that's markings were the tangled cavalcade of leaves and flowers, and Thorin was in awe to notice the blooming flowers around her feet that broke their way through the marble floor. He could understand the scent in the room now, filling his lungs with the most exotic flavours he had ever smelled. This beautiful female most certainly looked like she was human, but there was something about her and this place that suggested otherwise. Thorin wasn't a fool, and he could recognise magic once he saw it.

"Where am I?" the king asked, his voice barely a whisper. She heard him perfectly, though.

"You are in a dream," she answered, approaching Thorin with light, noiseless steps. The closer she got, the lighter Thorin felt, and the flowers were blossoming nearer to his feet. He was barefoot, but he enjoyed the cool touch of the floor against his skin. "But I know that did not surprise you, King under the Mountain."

She eventually reached Thorin, gently descending to sit with him on the soft bed. From such little distance she looked even more beautiful, and Thorin could feel a wave of wonder washing over him. Her eyes shone like sapphires, the kind he only saw in the deepest mines of Erebor. She had unearthly beauty.

"My name is Vána, the Ever-young," she said gently, raising her soft hands to touch Thorin's face. He shivered as her fingertips ran over the long forgotten scars on his skin, and he closed his eyes with a long sigh. "I came in the place of someone who couldn't come today, for she is sleeping in the island on Lake Lorellin. She asked me to give you a message, Thorin Oakenshield. She already helped you once."

Thorin's eyelids slowly rose, not hiding his crystalline gaze for any longer. He was met with the kind smile of Vána, and, somehow, everything seemed to fit perfectly in his mind. He understood everything, and he needed to ask nothing.

"Estë," he breathed, and Vána nodded her head ever so slightly.

"A bright future awaits you beyond the Halls you are now sleeping in," she began on a voice as if she was telling him about a secret that no one else was meant to know but Thorin. "You may think you are held captive by foes, but not everyone there is to hold you back. Mark my words, Thorin Oakenshield, for the first to gift you with the most honest of all smiles is destined to have a fate entwined with yours. You need to learn how to see the true worth of someone before deciding not to trust them."

Her hand was resting on his chest now, right above his heart. He nodded in understanding. Thorin knew she was talking about the Hall of Thranduil, he knew she spoke of a blonde elf with true intentions, and he also knew he was going to forget everything he understood now, for it was not meant to be a foreknowledge, but things he will need to learn along the way.

Thorin smiled again, his hand finding Vána's without looking. His palm covered her smaller hand and squeezed it gently.

"Thank you, my Lady."

She leaned only the tiniest bit closer, new flowers blossoming around them as she smiled the brightest of smiles Thorin had ever seen.

"This is not the last time we meet," she promised, her face full of light and joy. "And it is most certainly not your last time in Valinor, King under the Mountain."

He wanted to ask questions, but he had not the chance.

She faded from him before he could've spoken.

***

Thorin woke with a violent burning taking over his whole body. The aftermath of his dream was shaking his bones and sending goosebumps all over his skin. He didn't understand anything. He could not remember the details of his dream, he only saw blurs and heard distant snatches of a woman talking. All he knew that this pain needed to go, or else, he would soon lose his mind and the little sanity that was left.

There were way too many thoughts in his head that he couldn't set right. He was thinking about magical lands, elves, hunger driving him mad and being left alone in the dark of Mirkwood. He had not the slightest idea of how he ended up in a room fancier than many he had seen in Erebor, but the carvings on the wall and the distant, merry laughs he could catch were pointing to the only reasonable answer. And he did not like it one bit.

He was in an elven palace.

Thorin remembered the day vividly when Thranduil and the Wood Elves came to Erebor, to admire the most valuable gem of all the kingdoms in Middle Earth: the Arkenstone. It was lost when Smaug claimed the Lonely Mountain to himself, including all the riches in it, and yet Thorin could see the stone in front of his closed eyelids anytime he wished to. It shone in the thousand colours of the rainbow, and had been shaped to the liking of the dwarves, being the most perfect gem on Arda. It took all the light that fell upon it, turning it to an uncountable number of wondrous sparks.

It was no wonder that, for this very reason, Thrór wished everyone to pay reverence, even the elves. And so they came, led by the Elvenking, the mighty Thranduil. Thrór always forewarned Thorin about this mysterious kin, cautioning him to never trust them fully and keep a good distance, for they were unpredictable and proud beyond any other kind. The young dwarf had never been to Thranduil's Halls or to Rivendell, but he never wished to pay a visit after the warnings of his grandfather.

He thought Thrór had his own personal reasons to think as such of the elves, so he did not argue. However, once the strange sickness took over him and it led to the fall of Erebor, Thorin had seen the elves standing over the high edge of the hills, and, for only a second, he doubted his grandfather. He would have loved to believe that he was wrong, to go up to Thranduil and apologise for being so distant at all times, but Thrór had not seem to be mistaken.

The elves abandoned them on that day, and Thorin learnt never to doubt his grandfather's words again.

Therefore, thinking about being a prisoner of the very same elves that did nothing to save his kingdom and his kin was making Thorin shiver with disgust.

A few seconds after the realisation dawned on him, the wooden doors opened. Three elven healers entered the room, bringing in the smell of all kind of delicious foods from the outside, but Thorin tried to hold back the rumbling of his stomach. He could feel sweat reaching his brows from the fever that was taking over him, and the last thing he needed was for those wretched creatures to see him hungry and weak. He would not be able to bear such shame.

The first elf who entered the room stood still at the base of the bed where Thorin was lying, staring at the dwarf king for a long time before speaking.

"Helyanwë, tell the prince that the dwarf has woken," one of them whispered, thinking it was silent enough and the 'dwarf' couldn't hear it, but Thorin could make out every single word. And he was not at all pleased about what he heard.

"That prince of yours doesn't have to know I'm awake," Thorin growled and tried to collect every last ounce of his power to push the covers off himself. Even that otherwise simple movement felt like rolling a giant stone from his way. "I am leaving."

Helyanwë left nevertheless, but Thorin did not care anymore. He stumbled to his feet weakly, and had it not been for an elf jumping right beside him to catch his elbow, he would've fallen to the ground. He could feel his cheeks warming from the embarassment.

"I do not think so, with all respect, dwarf king Thorin Oakenshield," he said dryly, holding Thorin's arm until the dwarf shook his hand off violently.

"Touch me again and you are dead, elf," he hissed with such loathing that it was almost tangible in the air. The dwarf could stand no more, however, so he fell back to sit on the bed as ceremoniously as he could. He supposed it wasn't working, for the disdainful smirk on the elves' face didn't disappear.

"Harsh words from a dwarf who wields a sword made by elves," a healer who has not spoken yet said, never looking at Thorin directly. The dwarf king only realised now that he did not know where Orcrist lay, and the lack of defense turned his stomach. He was looking around frantically, but the elf who touched him simply waved him off, walking back to the door.

"The sword is safe with our prince. Stop panicking like a frightened fawn. It does not suit your majesty," he sneered and Thorin had to grab the sheets to restrain himself from hitting him.

"I want my sword back," he said on his low, demanding tone, but the elves did not seem to care. Thorin should've expected that, actually.

"The prince will return it once he thinks fit," the quieter one said, his words still calm and measured. Thorin decided he wanted to punch him first for being so self-satisfied and not even looking into the dwarf's eyes while doing so. It was exactly a thing he counted upon from these creatures.

Sound of footsteps and the opening door broke the temporary silence, and everyone in the room but Thorin looked up to see the elf standing in the doorway. Thorin didn't want to acknowledge the newcomer's presence at first, but, when stillness was stretching too long in the room, he turned his head with an exasperated sigh. At the sight, his jaw nearly dropped.

He looked like Thranduil, yet, he wasn't quite him. He had the long, blonde hair and the dark brows that differed from his straight locks in an unusual fashion, but he looked way too young and somehow smaller than the Elvenking. He wore white, silky clothes, the neck of his costume turned up with care. His eyes were the same as the Elvenking's, but he had chiselled features, much more different from Thranduil's.

He must have been related to him somehow, Thorin noted, but did not speak a word. He was waiting for the stranger to say something first.

There was a long staring competition before the elf finally spoke.

"Leave us," he said, his voice as soft as the look in his eyes, and the healers did not resist. They left the salves and balms on a small table Thorin had not noticed so far, then, with a small bow, they all left the room.

There was only the two of them now.

"Thorin Oakenshield," the stranger said, and Thorin was stunned to hear his name from the mouth of an elf with such respect. There was no disdain, no loathing, no pride, but pure and undisguised honour, and it caught the dwarf off-guard. "Were the healers disrespectful with you?"

Thorin only noticed the long, familiar shaped object in the elf's hand, wrapped in a cloth with care. The king could tell immediately: it was Orcrist, and he could feel his heart beating faster. It was undeniable now. He was the prince, for he had his weapon, and he was indeed related to Thranduil.

He was his son.

Yet, he was so different from him that Thorin couldn't really speak for a short couple of seconds, only kept staring at the elf.

"They have no reason to respect me, and I don't need them to," he collected himself quickly, watching carefully as the prince approached him and eventually stopped in a good distance from him.

He gave Thorin a strange smile.

"I have heard about your complicated relationship with my kin," the elf said, looking down at the floor for a long moment. "My father often calls you a spoiled, hysterical brat, but, personally, I could never see the reason behind this childish quarrel between dwarves and elves."

"What do you know?" Thorin spat, his anger rising in sync with the stinging on his skin. He shifted on the edge of the bed, still collecting his strength to try and stand up again soon. "You weren't there when-"

"Yes, when Smaug took Erebor and my father chose not to help you. A story I have been told many times in many different ways," he looked up at Thorin, his face absolutely unreadable. The dwarf was steaming from rage. "I am not here to argue over the past, King under the Mountain. I came to give this back to you."

He walked closer, slowly but with firm steps, and held Orcrist out for Thorin to take it. The dwarf was eyeing the sword suspiciously, like it could've disappeared from a simple touch alone, but he tentatively took it, closing his fingers around it tightly once the elf let go of it.

"Why would you give it back to me?" the dwarf looked up, confusion and misgiving obvious on his face. He could still feel the anger building inside him, but, with Orcrist in his hands, he felt the sense of safety returning to him. It was a fix point, something he could hold onto since he had nothing else. "You just gave me a sword that your kin created. How come you did not claim it back? And are not you afraid I would cut you in half before you could blink?"

The prince stood still for a while, thinking over the answer again and again before stepping back to give Thorin more space. He had this look on his face that was utterly unusual from an elf, but it started something in Thorin that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"I seek no enemy in you, Thorin Oakenshield," he said on a soft tone, resulting in Thorin's eyes widening with wonder. "Neither would I like you to see an enemy in me. I respect my father and I love him, as well as put him in the first place, but I am not like him. It was my first attempt to prove it to you."

Thorin did not know what to answer at first, but he soon realised he didn't owe trust to the son of Thranduil. He was nothing more than an elf, and he was most certainly not better than his father. Thorin had had enough of wrongly shared trust; he did not need more betrayals and disappointments.

He gave the elf a sneer.

"Your father is not better than the Pale Orc himself." The expression on the prince's face hardened. "If he tries to play me by sending his son to me, he might be even more pathetic than him. At least he had the decency to look me in the eye and fight me, but what is your father doing? Hiding in his halls, placing me in a fancy room to make me feel welcomed when he knows this is the last thing I would need. You can go and tell him that if I am to be his prisoner, then put me in his famous cellars and we can see if I can outwit him with an escape."

The elf narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, but, after a few seconds, his face suddenly fell and something unexpected happened.

He started laughing.

Not a scornful or derisive kind of laugh, but more like the kind filled with amusement and relief, like after a good joke. Thorin was stunned, and he knew his face was giving him away despite all of his self-control to hold it back. It was not only because he had never seen an elf laugh like this, but for it was the heir of Thranduil in front of him. Not a healer, not a soldier, but a prince. And elf princes weren't meant to laugh at dwarves, leastwise, not like this.

"What is so funny?" Thorin tried to keep up a grim face, to hide his shock behind a mask of judgement, but he knew the elf could see through it. Like it wasn't there at all.

"My father doesn't even know I'm here," he smiled, a real smile that actually reached his eyes. _An honest smile._ "I don't think I should know that you are here, in his Halls, actually."

"What?" Thorin's eyebrows rose to the base of his hair, and it only deepened the amusement of the prince. "Then why are you here, elf?"

He took a deep breath, the smile never fading from his face, and he shook his head. Thorin could recognise this expression on the young elf's face - he had often seen it on Kili's, this mischievous look in his eyes. Thorin could slowly put the pieces together, and his rage was soothing a little. He understood.

"My name is Legolas," the elf said, then added, "and I am here because I wanted to see how bad my father's most loathed enemy actually was."

Legolas laughed again shortly.

"I think you aren't that bad at all, Thorin Oakenshield."

***

Legolas hadn't stayed for too long with the king of dwarves afterwards.

He planned to sneak into his room and pay visit frequently; he truly found something fascinating in this small, grumpy creature. He honestly could not see why his father despised him so, while Thorin was not that awful at all. Some of his kin, though, were far more worse than the dwarf, and it made his skin itch with frustration.

Legolas decided he would help Thorin wherever he could, since he was the only one who did not see him as a prisoner. He had heard the whispers amongst the elves of the Halls about how strange it was from Thranduil to not throw Thorin Oakenshield into the dirtiest of his dungeons, but placing him in the fanciest of his rooms instead. Even Legolas did not understand, but he knew his father, and he suspected the Elvenking was driven by the desire to get under Thorin's skin. To irritate the dwarf until the point he could not bear it anymore, and Thranduil truly would have a reason to treat him like he secretly wanted to.

To hurt him.

And Legolas did not want to see that happen.

The prince had also heard the news of another group of dwarves that were saved from spiders and later captured by the Wood Elves in the Mirkwood. Legolas knew he had to get close to them somehow, despite that they were probably going to treat him like Thorin had at first. However, he did not care about his pride, so his first way after leaving the room of the still weak dwarf king led him to the main halls.

Just as he suspected, there stood many elves, waiting for the doors to open. Legolas turned to one he knew he could trust, although, not with his real intentions. No elf would have helped him, had they known he was trying to help the prisoners. Urúvyan, however, was the one to tell him about Thorin, and Legolas knew he could ask the elf about this new wave of strangers as well.

"How many?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper as he stood close to Urúvyan. He watched the door carefully, for it could've been opened at any second now. He could sense it.

"Twelve," the elf answered. Legolas could feel Urúvyan's eyes lingering on his face. "One of them is a hobbit, if I am not mistaken."

"You are never mistaken," the prince turned to him with a small smile. Urúvyan was a good lot older than Legolas, and his senses, his gift of seeing was way more refined than the prince's. Sometimes he was jealous, even. "A hobbit in the company of dwarves? Isn't it odd?"

"We will see," the elf responded and took a deep breath. "I am wondering what is your father going to do to them."

Legolas furrowed his brows in confusion. "Didn't he give an order?"

"As far as I can tell, no. He does not wish to see them until tomorrow, that is all I was told."

The prince blinked, but he had not the chance to speak, for the door suddenly opened. It was a huge, magical wooden gate that could only be opened by a spell, and there were a very few who knew the right words. It opened out wide with a familiar noise, and Legolas was standing there with a blank face as he laid eyes on the newcomers.

They looked like dead men walking. He had seen a few dwarves in his yet short life, but none of them seemed to be capable of looking like this. Dwarves were usually proud and powerful creatures, small but tenacious, and they would've never shown any weakness unless they were forced to. The members of this company, however, were not only tired but downright worn out, barely able to walk from exhaustion, and elves had never looked so mighty next to another kin so far. Legolas was looking for the odd-one-out since they entered the Halls, and he soon found him.

The small hobbit was the last in the line, and he looked the worst. He was covered in mud and dirt, sweat and tears, and Legolas' heart sank at the sight. He hadn't seen hobbits before, but he learnt of them. In the books and the descriptions, they never looked like this. He wanted to say something, to act, but he knew he couldn't. He had to wait for his father's order and only act when no one was around to see him.

Just like he had done with Thorin.

The small party of elves that escorted the company stopped in the middle of the great hall, and so did the dwarves and the hobbit. They seemed like they had already given up on fighting, and, somewhere deep within, Legolas was glad about that. They would've only made their situation worse by withstanding. The crowd in the hall was silent, only occasional whispers broke the quietness, and everyone was waiting for the word of Thranduil to arrive. Legolas stood with his heart beating in his throat, and he was secretly praying that his father wouldn't throw them in the cells. He would be in a much harder situation then.

From the great hall, a long staircase carved into the ground led the way down to the heart of the palace, deep under, where no natural light could find its way in. Durion Malthaldar, right hand and main councilor of the king appeared from there, bringing forth the order of Thranduil, and he whispered it into the ear of the leader of the elven party. Legolas knew both men very well, albeit he was more fond of the mithril armored Rwryan than the cold and distant Durion. The councilor was the perfect advisor for Thranduil, for he had every trait Legolas found utterly boring and his father extremely fascinating. Legolas only hoped if he once had to replace his father on the throne, he could get rid of Durion immediately.

Rwryan and Durion were talking soundlessly so no one in the huge crowd could hear them speaking, and, after the councilor stepped back, Rwryan started to lead the way to the right wing of the palace with a confused expression on his face. Legolas tried to keep calm, though, on the inside, he was bursting with relief. They weren't heading for the cells, which was a good decision from his father, even if their reasons to believe that were absolutely different.

Most of the dwarves were already heading down the stairs while the hobbit was still there, like he hadn't even noticed that the others were long gone. He must've been in pain, Legolas noted, and he wanted to move and help him, but his common sense held him back. One dwarf, however, was there to wake the small creature from his thoughts, and put a hand on his shoulder with a small smile. Legolas watched with wonder as the dwarf with brown locks and no facial hair whatsoever (which was extremely unusual for dwarves) started leading the hobbit towards the stairs, telling him what seemed like soothing words that placed a tiny bit of light to the otherwise empty gaze of the halfling.

Legolas felt odd afterwards. Seeing such gentleness from a dwarf was not an ordinary thing, especially if the one on the receiving end wasn't from the same kin. That young lad, however, seemed like he was worried for the hobbit, and Legolas couldn't blame him.

He felt a bit of worry as well, and he didn't even know the halfling.

Night fell upon them soon after that, and Legolas was restless during dinner. His father seemed to be annoyed with him, but the king spoke little himself and let Legolas retreat from the table early on the evening. Thranduil enjoyed a merry feast every night, and Legolas was glad to leave him to his music and dancing.

The prince felt like the ground under his feet was on fire, and he couldn't stay still for longer than a few minutes. He was pacing his room until he was sure the doors of his father's chambers were closed, then, with utter carefullness, he walked down the corridors and didn't stop until he reached the spacious room where the dwarves were placed. The whole palace was quiet, for it was way past midnight, and he knew how to reach the right wing without being noticed. Legolas found it easy enough to lure away the guards that stood by the door, and, when he had the chance, he slipped into the room without anyone taking notice.

Anyone, except the dwarf sitting on the floor on the inner side of the door.

The first thing that Legolas noticed was the axe stuck in his head, and his brows creased with confusion. The dwarf didn't seem less bewildered, and they had this long staring competition for even a minute when a voice broke the silence.

"He won't speak to you, you know. He doesn't speak to anyone."

Legolas looked up, his heart beating slightly faster than usually. He couldn't find the owner of the kind voice at first, but, after looking hard enough, he could see the same brown haired dwarf he had seen earlier, sitting in the dark corner across from where Legolas was standing. He seemed awfully small from this angle, and Legolas expected his heartbeat to calm down by now, but it didn't.

It only grew heavier in his chest.

"What is wrong with him?" the prince eventually asked. His voice was calm and steady, not reflecting the way his insides felt at that moment.

"You might've noticed the axe in his head, surely," he answered, and Legolas almost laughed.

"Yes, I did. It is not something I see everyday, I have to give him that."

The dwarf in question cleared his throat loud enough to tell them he was there and they shouldn't have been talking about him like that in his presence. Legolas bowed his head with a shameful smile, but the brown haired dwarf was laughing gently.

"Sorry, Bifur. Won't happen again."

Bifur growled once more, as if he was trying to say 'it better not', but he grew silent after that. So did the other dwarf. Legolas took this opportunity to cross the room, careful not to step on the dwarves sleeping all around on the floor and snoring loudly, then, he descended to sit with the brown haired dwarf. The floor felt cold against his skin, even through his clothes, and he suddenly felt bad for placing these dwarves in such a cold room. His father's Halls had way more friendlier places to put guests in, but, Legolas had to remind himself, these dwarves weren't there as guests. They were prisoners, and Legolas should have been satisfied that his father didn't push them into the cells.

Yet.

"What is your name?"

The sudden question of the dwarf next to him shook the prince out of his thoughts and he turned his head to look at him. He had soft features, long wavy locks and eyes that bore into Legolas' like his mother's used to. She only had to look at him once and she could tell immediately whether he had done a mischief or not - he missed it, and it was pleasant to be reminded of those days after such a long time.

"I am Legolas," he finally responded, bowing his head ever so slightly. "I am the Elvenking's son."

"And what does the Elvenking's son do with us, dwarves?"

It was a good question indeed.

 _How should I answer?_ he was thinking to himself. _I am curious of your kin and I find your leader interesting? I don't understand why my father hates you? I want to see if you are really as bad as he claims?_

He did not know. Nevertheless, he had to answer, so he just shrugged with a half-smile tugging at his lips.

"Do I need a reason?" he blinked at the dwarf. "I have already told your king: I seek no enemy in you, and I wish not to be yours."

The dwarf seemed to be extremely interested in that, sitting up straight immediately. He had such intense excitement and hope in his eyes that Legolas felt pure surprise washing over him.

"Uncle is here?" the dwarf asked, his voice barely a whisper. He held back his breath, like he was not sure if he had the permission to feel joyous or not. In that moment, he looked painfully young in Legolas' eyes.

The way his glance switched to the side for a second and then back to Legolas made the prince follow the way the dwarf was looking. Another dwarf was curled up there, a blonde one. Legolas remembered him from earlier today, and he seemed just as young as the brown haired one, even deep in his sleep. The prince could immediately tell they were siblings, and he felt a sad smile making its way to his lips.

These were Thorin's nephews, thinking their uncle was dead.

  
 _"Father! Father, you are back!"_

_Legolas was running towards the opening door, the heavy cracks of it being swallowed by the huge great hall of Thranduil's palace. The king wore his finest clothes, dressed all in white and gold. His face did not suit these garments, though, but Legolas, being the small child he was, hadn't noticed. He was moving fast, his long blonde locks flying after him in his great hurry, and he only stopped when he was mere inches from his father._

_He was catching his breath, looking around with a keen smile, obviously searching for someone in the crowd. All the elves had serious faces on, but Legolas' joy was unbreakable._

_"Where is Mother?" he asked, his voice small and out of breath, and, for the first time, Thranduil looked down on him. His eyes had never felt so cold, and Legolas knew something was wrong. Yet, he was too young to read the signs, and his father knew that well._

_He knelt before him tentatively, never touching his son, just staring. Legolas was growing impatient, worry creasing his brows._

_"Father?"_

_If his voice broke at least a hundred hearts in the Halls, no one spoke of it. Everyone was silent, and Thranduil took a deep breath, slowly placing his hand on Legolas' shoulder. It was way too small for the burden that was going to push them down soon._

_"Legolas," the king started, his voice unusually softer than anytime Legolas had ever heard him speak. Pain was ringing out way too obviously. "Your mother is not here. Nor she ever will be here again."_

_The young prince fell into a long silence, not quite understanding what was happening, but he finally gave in and spoke._

_"Where is she?" Legolas could feel tears welling up in his eyes at the mere thought of his mother never being with him again, but he wanted to know more. Later, as he remembered on that day, he wished he hadn't._

_"She is gone," Thranduil answered, gently squeezing Legolas' shoulder. The small touch felt painful, but the prince did not speak, for he couldn't. He was afraid he would start crying in front of his father, and he learnt early that he must never do that. "You won't see her for a very long time, for she decided to sail. She is in a safe place now, where no harm can come to her."_

_Legolas did not understand why his father said that back then. He did not understand why home was not safe enough for his mother, and if it really was not, then why didn't she take them with her. He did not understand, and he ran until he could run no more, falling on his knees by the side of his bed, letting out the desperate tears that kept piercing his eyes for too long._

_His mother abandoned him, and he did not understand. For a long time afterwards, he didn't._

  
Now, as he was looking at this dwarf, he wished his father would've told him what Legolas was going to say instead of what he really said. His smile widened and he nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat that grew way too huge in the last seconds.

"Yes, he is. Thorin Oakenshield is here."

Endless relief and joy weren't enough to express the emotions that filled the other's gaze in that moment. He looked like happiness in an earthly form, and, for a moment, Legolas feared the dwarf would make such relieved noises that he would draw the attention of the guards. He did not, though, but the huge grin on his face did not disappear for long seconds.

"We still have a chance then," he whispered, more to himself than to Legolas. After a minute of abandon and unreserved rejoicing, he seemed to remember that Legolas was there next to him, and he looked at the elf again, his eyes shining through the darkness of the room. "Thank you for telling me."

Legolas smiled softly, nodding. "You are welcome. I cannot grant you access to his rooms, though, for I visited him in secret as well, so I can't see anything to be thankful for. I wish I could do something, really."

The dwarf seemed even more pleased after that.

"You went against your father to see my uncle?" he grinned and Legolas laughed silently. Nobody put it that way so far, but it was the truth.

"It can't hurt him if he doesn't know it."

"Aren't you afraid of what he's going to do with you if he finds out?" Worry seemed to crease the dwarf's brows, but Legolas kept smiling reassuringly. "I would be if I ever went against my uncle without him knowing."

"This is what I do all the time. I go against things and see how people will react," the elf shrugged, staring down at his feet for a second before looking at the dwarf again. There was a look in those deep brown eyes that Legolas couldn't really recognise, and, before he could've realised, they were staring at each other for at least a minute. He immediately felt his cheeks warming up, but his next question was already on the tip of his tounge. "I couldn't catch your name."

The dwarf's smile widened at that, and he seemed less cautious in the company of Legolas now. His features were soft, his eyes kind, and he told the elf his name on a way that made the prince feel like he had to value this information.

"I am Kili, at your service."

And he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Legolas is here. Yay! 
> 
> Two more chapters will take place in Thranduil's Halls before we move on with our journey, but, as you can see, I need to take my time with this new ship I brought in just now. I am more than excited to see what you think of this chapter.
> 
> If anyone is interested in why I placed both Thorin and the company in rooms instead of the dungeons, I have an explanation. I don't think Thranduil, besides his pride and sense of superiority over the kin of dwarves, has any reason to hate Thorin. He wants to drive him crazy with this false hospitality, he wants to mock him but, otherwise, he doesn't have a reason to really loathe him. (Yet. Dun dun dun.)
> 
> Also, I love writing about the Valar. They are really complex, I recommend you to look them up on the LOTR Wiki or Tolkien Gateway, it's worth it.
> 
> Thank you so much for your kind words and anticipation about the chapters, I will try to frequently update it, even if it takes 4 days for me recently to finish a chapter. :D
> 
> Next one comes on Monday!
> 
> PS.: This is the look of Vána that I found the most fascinating, therefore I used it.
> 
> http://www.tolkiengateway.net/w/images/7/74/Alice_Falto_-_Vana.jpg


	8. Swords Crossed

"You did _what_?"

Bilbo's incredulous cry echoed through the huge room where all the dwarves were standing in a line, except for Kili. He had been the special victim of the hobbit's rage.

And so was the elf beside him.

The dwarves all hissed at Bilbo with frowns that said 'if we are getting caught because of you, we will surely end you', but it didn't touch the hobbit. He could've been scary even, had he not been so small. The main target of his anger, namely, the elf called Legolas, only kept staring down at him with utter amusement, and it infuriated Bilbo even more.

Kili turned to him with despair. "Look, Bilbo-"

"Don't _'Bilbo'_ me, you foolish dwarf, for I am more angry now than Beorn could ever be!" Bilbo flung his arms about violently. "What were you thinking?"

"We can trust him, alright?" Kili asked, throwing his arms in the air with a roll of his eyes. "Legolas is not our enemy, aye? He has been with uncle, and uncle trusts him! Doesn't he, Legolas?"

Every eye turned to the elf, curiosity almost tangible in the air, but he didn't seem nearly that confident now. Bilbo buried his face in his palms.

Legolas was already there when the hobbit woke. Informing Bilbo about the great news of Thorin being held in the Halls was not needed, since the halfling could tell it immediately, for his pain was mostly gone. He could feel the ghost of the burning sensation sometimes, but it was far from the aching he had to bear the day before. He could barely walk on his own feet then, he saw nothing but blurry stains of everything, and he went where he was led. His last memory was the great gate of the Elvenking's Halls, but afterwards, he knew no more. He could not tell when he fell asleep, nor whether he dreamed something or not. He just slept, and he woke to the company cheering about Thorin's well-being.

Not everyone was so fascinated, needless to tell. For example, Bilbo and Dwalin were the furthest from being happy.

The big news was only interesting until their thoughts were louder than their stomachs, for they had not eaten since the last time they made a camp in Mirkwood. Bombur had some bread in his pockets which he was not happy to share but he had no other choice. Still, it was far from enough. They were hungry, thirsty, and peevish.

And dwarves had never been a good company when they were peevish, Bilbo learnt that soon enough.

He really didn't like where this little journey was going, and he knew he was the only one who could come up with a useful plan for their escape. However, once he was told that Kili was smart enough to talk about the magic ring to Legolas, the hobbit got angry, and the young dwarf had no chance to say anything else. Even Bilbo didn't understand how the ring worked, but Kili was keen to divulge this secret to the son of the Elvenking.

He could've gone to Thranduil himself, it wouldn't have made much difference, Bilbo thought to himself sullenly and took a deep breath before looking up. He had to be reasonable, and he couldn't lose his head. Being useful in adventures was a trait from his Took ancestors, but keeping his balance was a family likeness from the Baggins side, and he was proud of it.

Way too proud to start panicking.

"Thorin's mistrust should not surprise any of us," he breathed heavily, his hands firm on his hips. "The only question left now is whether his suspicion is well-founded or not."

A staring competition took place then, between a hobbit and an elf. Legolas was tall enough so Bilbo's neck started to hurt from looking up for too long, but he did not seem frightening, the hobbit had to admit it. Bilbo had never seen the elf's father before, but Legolas seemed noble enough, and the look in his eyes suggested no ill-will. He looked the slightest bit of torn, though, like he wasn't really sure on what he was about to do and if it was right or wrong, but he eventually swallowed hard and opened his mouth to answer.

"I know my word counts nothing. You despise my father and my kin, and, even if I kept repeating that I am not my father, you would not believe me," Legolas started, his voice low and steady. Bilbo focused on every word the elf said, but he couldn't help noticing the admiring look on Kili's face with which he was eyeing Legolas. The hobbit made a mental note about it, but he did not interrupt. "I can only imagine what it would be like to lose my home and no one would come to help us.

"I can't go against my father completely, for reasons I hope you can understand," he said, his voice full of sympathy. "But I can help you the best I can. And I will. So tell me what do you need, and I will try to give it to you."

Everyone listened to him in absolute silence. Realisation that he was worried for no reason had dawned on Bilbo, and he slowly breathed out. The others seemed to lose from their tension as well, and they started moving around more comfortably.

The first one to step ahead was Fili, clearing his throat shortly before looking up at the elf. An unreadable expression clouded his face that reminded Bilbo of Thorin, and the halfling smiled to himself gently. They shared this unfathomable look, the intense bright gaze and the way they were moving; they couldn't have denied their affinity, not even if they had wanted to.

Fili was quiet for a few seconds, trying to seem as tall as Legolas (he was a good lot taller than him, so there was no point for the dwarf to try), then eventually, he ended the blank unbroken silence.

"I am Fili, older brother of Kili, from the bloodline of Durin, heir to the throne of Erebor," he announced on a deep voice, worthy for a prince. Bilbo had not the slightest idea on what Fili was going to say, but the dwarf's serious face dropped soon. A wide grin spread on his lips, and he stepped forwards to grab Legolas' hand and shake it firmly, leaving the elf with the greatest shock he had ever experienced. "And I am more than happy that my silly brother wasn't wrong about you, son of the Elvenking. We are at your service, me and my kin alike."

"Oi! Don't talk in my name," Dwalin mumbled from the background, but no one seemed to hear him. Legolas slowly broke into a smile himself, relief obvious on his face, and Bilbo could hear the rest of the company silently laughing at the sudden turn of events.

They finally had an ally in the crowd of possible enemies, and Bilbo felt a bit less desperate in this knowledge. Not even the grim face of Dwalin could bring his spirits down, for the hobbit knew that Legolas had to prove himself first and only then he could earn the trust of the closest friend of Thorin. Dwalin trusted Bilbo already (he couldn't deny the suitability of the hobbit after the little trick with the spiders), and the halfling knew he would eventually grow to trust Legolas, too.

They just had to make the plan quickly enough, before they could've been caught.

"If you want to help, you will need to show me to Thorin's room first," Bilbo said after the silent celebration of Legolas ended, and they were all crowded around the elf. He was their only hope now, along with the ring the hobbit held in his hand tightly. "I will need to talk to him."

"That shouldn't be a problem with that ring of yours," Legolas wondered. He turned his head to the side to look at Kili with a reassuring smile, then, he turned back to Bilbo. "But you should all know something first."

"Lemme guess. Your da' is trickin' us an' placed us in this room only to make us comfortable before he throws us in his dungeons," Gloin crossed his arms in front of his chest, and Legolas' face was enough of an answer. Some of the dwarves started groaning, others were complaining about being hungry, but before all hell could break lose, Bilbo cleared his throat to draw attention to himself.

"This is exactly why we have to hurry," he said, eyes wide with pressing. "If you are thrown into the dungeons then I am pretty sure Thorin will follow you there soon. I will have to make sure Thorin is alright, and, even if you do end up in the dungeons, we won't let you down, will we, Legolas?"

The elf's face lit up immediately, a smile forming on his lips. Bilbo couldn't believe his own eyes, seeing so much resemblance to Kili in the young elf, and all of a sudden he wasn't so surprised by their closeness. Kili stood so near to him like they'd been friends for years, and, for some odd reason, Bilbo was happy to see that.

Maybe their friendship would establish the peace between dwarves and elves one day. It would be a merrier world, Bilbo could see that for sure.

"What if something happens to you, laddie? While we sit in the dungeons?" Balin shook Bilbo out of his thoughts. The hobbit didn't like how the dwarf's voice was dripping with worry, and his smile faded.

This thought hadn't really occured to Bilbo so far, and he stared at the old dwarf without an answer. While he had the ring on, no pain or elf could hold him back. Trusting himself so blindly, however, might not have been the best option - nevertheless, it was the only one. Who else could he trust besides himself? There was a great chance even Legolas could be caught any moment now, for playing tricks behind the back of the Elvenking wasn't rewarding. However, Bilbo had a great advantage with the ring, and he would've been a fool not to hold onto it.

He eventually smiled at Balin, reassuring him the best he could. "I won't let you down. I rescued you from the spiders, and I will rescue you if you end up in the cellars. I promise, I won't get caught."

Silence fell upon the company, and everyone stepped closer to Bilbo. Some of them were patting him on the shoulder, others were ruffling his hair, and the way Balin looked at him reminded Bilbo of Gandalf. He felt that strange longing for the presence of the wizard, for the sense of safety that lingered around him when he was around, and the hobbit realised he was afraid. Despite the comforting words of the company and the support of Legolas, he doubted he could do what he had done with the spiders all over again.

_What if I can't save them in time? What if Thorin is already in the dungeons? What if I fail?_

These were the thoughts roaming in Bilbo's mind, and he almost lost all of the faith he invested in himself when Oin's voice suddenly pulled him back to reality.

"Take care of ye'self, burglar," the dwarf smiled at him from behind his grey moustache, and Bilbo stepped out of the circle with a small smile.

Maybe he wasn't meant to fail after all. Maybe all he had to do was to steal the dwarves back from Thranduil. And if he couldn't do that, he would be helpless against Smaug, and he couldn't let that be the case.

He walked to Legolas, looking up at him for the last time and then, with a small nod, he slipped the ring on his finger.

***

Legolas knew when he was in trouble.

Not too long after his mother sailed to the Undying Lands, he started to act strangely. He always behaved well when his mother was still in Greenwood (it was once green, and he could never really get used to the new name of his home), and his father had always been proud of him. He learnt well, he had many friends, he spoke well and he had everything an heir needed. As soon as he lost his mother, he changed.

As a young child, Legolas blamed his father for letting his mother go, and that was the main reason behind his mischiefs. He had done everything in his power to annoy Thranduil, and the Elvenking had exceptional patience when it came to his son. He accepted that it took longer to Legolas to cope with the absence of his mother, but there was only so much that even an elf could take.

After months of different pranks, Thranduil punished him everytime Legolas got in the neck, and it often ended with tears. Nevertheless, Legolas loved his father. He just couldn't forgive him for letting his mother go away, and he couldn't step over that.

Not even on that very day when they had been standing in front of the room of the dwarves with the invisible Bilbo, and Thranduil was staring right at his son from the other side of the corridor.

Legolas could recognise many faces of his father. He knew when the Elvenking was relieved, happy, proud, annoyed, and, most of all, angry. He knew the angry face the most, and he was looking at that in that moment. For a second, he entertained the thought that he could avoid this talk somehow, that he could just keep lying until his father let him go, but, then again, he had to think about the hobbit next to him, not just himself.

He cleared his throat quickly, thinking up the best possible plan.

"Bilbo," he hissed so only the hobbit could hear him. Thranduil chose this moment to start walking in their direction, but his steps were slow enough so Legolas could finish what he wanted. "You go to the end of this corridor and then turn to the right. You go up the stairs and cross the hall. The second door to your left is the room of the dwarf. Hurry. Go, now!"

Thranduil reached them right after that, and Legolas could feel his heart beating heavily in his throat. He only hoped the hobbit could by-pass Thranduil and quickly find the dwarf king, for he knew it well that the Elvenking being angry meant no mercy for any dwarf near and far his Halls. And it most certainly meant no mercy for Legolas.

"You never cease to amaze me, Legolas," Thranduil said on his usual, impassive tone, stopping right in front of the prince. He wore a silvery long-coat that Legolas did not often see on him, and his antler carved crown seemed to be stretching higher than on any other day. Looking frightening was a not so secret ability of Thranduil's, but it didn't have an effect on Legolas anymore. Not since he came of age. "First you think you can outwit me and pay visit to that wretched dwarf, thinking I won't notice, then you spend the night with his kind."

Legolas could do nothing but smile. The stern tone did not make him surrender, for he knew he had to win time for Bilbo, as much as he could. If it meant he was to be thrown into the dungeons with the dwarves, then so be it.

"Maybe I wanted you to notice," Legolas shrugged, trying not to be too insolent. He did not want to hurt his father, he just wanted him to get distracted for the time being. "I managed to outwit you with that, then, I suppose."

Thranduil hadn't been looking at his son until this moment. At Legolas' words, however, he turned his gaze to look at the prince and shivers cold as ice started running up and down on the young elf's spine. Maybe he was insolent anyway.

"I can't remember your mother ever being so arrogant," the Elvenking said, his voice barely a hiss. Legolas swallowed. "We did not raise you like this. Have these creatures already corrupted you, son? Where are your manners?"

Legolas almost laughed out loud but he could restrain himself in the last moment. He thought about the soft lines on Kili's face, the kind words of Fili, the grateful looks of the other dwarves, and, for a second, he wished he could've been with them instead of the Elvenking. With the company, at least, he hadn't been the target of a look as cold as his father's.

The prince did not answer, however, and he just slowly tore his glance from Thranduil's face, staring down at his foot. He did not want to worsen his situation any further, for he could feel his undoing already. Anger was radiating from the Elvenking, and there was a point where even Legolas knew to stop.

"If it ever comes to my notice that you are involved with our prisoners again, you won't get off as light as now, Legolas," Thranduil turned to the door with his whole body, taking a deep breath and absolutely ignoring his son eyeing him liked a kicked pup. "Guards!"

On the end of the corridor where Thranduil himself showed up not fully three minutes ago, two armed guards turned around the corner and made their way to the Elvenking. Thranduil was still, his face regaining its usual severity, and he raised his chin slightly.

"I will need one of you to escort the prince back to his chambers and put him under strict watch. He can't leave his room until I say so," Thranduil said wryly. Before Legolas could've said anything, one of the guards stepped next to him, waiting for other orders. "I need the other one of you to go and collect at least twenty guards who can leave their position for a while. We will move the dwarves to the dungeons."

Legolas gaped as the other guard started to make his way back to the main halls and fulfill the order he was given. The three of them stood there in front of the room for several more seconds, in deadly silence, when the guard finally shifted, obviously uncomfortable that the prince didn't move anywhere.

"Do I need to ask for more guards to take you to your chambers, Legolas?" Thranduil turned his head, but his eyes were fixed on an irrelevant point somewhere on the prince's chest.

"What will you do to Thorin Oakenshield?" Legolas finally asked, his voice low and silent. The corner of the Elvenking's mouth twitched and he looked at his son with such disdain that it made Legolas' stomach drop.

"It is none of your concern."

Legolas did not really follow the happenings from that point. He let himself when the guard tentatively started pulling at his arm, leading him towards his room, and he felt like a ghost once he crossed the doorstep. Everything around him seemed transparent, the furnitures and the walls that he grew up under lost their colours, the air felt cold and his mouth dry.

When did his father start rejecting him so much? When did the mighty Elvenking, King of the Woodland Realm stop acting like a father and started behaving a king?

When did he cease to be a son and became only an heir instead?

He could not find his answers, for, all of a sudden, a familiar abundance of wavy, auburn locks was in his field of vision, and he realised someone was saying his name.

"Legolas, what happened?"

The voice was full of exasperation, and he could do nothing but to blink at the newcomer blankly. Then, he found his way back to reality, and he could slowly identify the girl in front of him.

Tauriel.

She came to live with them when Sauron returned to Middle-Earth and the Watchful Peace ended. She was fierce, headstrong and smart, smarter than many of her age. She was awfully young then, and Thranduil felt it to be his responsibility to give Tauriel a home after learning that her parents fell prey to the dark magic poisoning the lands. She studied hard and was determined to become the head of the Mirkwood Elven guard. Considering how hard-working she seemed to be, no one was surprised when Thranduil gave her the title and she became the youngest of all who had ever worked in this position.

At first, she and Legolas couldn't find the common ground. The prince always wanted to wander around Mirkwood or practice shooting but Tauriel never skipped a lesson and was mostly studying. However, over the years when they were doing things that even the crown prince enjoyed, they grew to like each other and became best friends. Legolas told her everything and so did she, and it was a relationship his father was very fond of. He seemed to find the skills of Tauriel very promising and thought she might be able to tame the young prince one day.

That didn't happen, but Thranduil never gave up hope.

It seemed like his friend was the only one to worry for Legolas, even now, in the midst of madness around the dwarves. Legolas smiled gently at Tauriel, eyeing her for a while before sitting down on the edge of his bed.

"Tauriel," Legolas breathed. He sounded more tired than what he intended to.

Tauriel followed him with a confused expression on her face, keeping her eyes on Legolas carefully. "What happened?"

"I don't think you would like my answer."

Tauriel's brows creased with worry, and she shook her head.

"Just tell me. The whole Hall is talking about his Majesty putting you under watch."

Legolas felt a weak smile tugging at his lips.

"Under watch, huh?" he asked, staring at the closed doors of his room, made from the finest wood in Middle-Earth. They looked like nothing but bars in the eyes of the prince. "Interesting name for imprisonment indeed."

Then, he started the story.

***

Waiting was the worst.

Waiting, for dwarves in particular, was something they didn't do very often. And not because they didn't have anything to wait for, but because even Mahal couldn't have dealt with his stubborn, impatient creatures when they grew urgent. No one wanted to be near to a dwarf when they were impatient.

Luckily for every single living being on Arda, Thorin Oakenshield was alone on that morning.

He started pacing the room as soon as he opened his eyes and realised the burning that weakened him was gone. He could barely walk two steps on the previous day, so, even if he wanted to chase away the elven healers that brought him some very minimal food, he wouldn't have been able to. But, that wasn't the case, of course, for he could barely remember the last time he ate a proper meal, and food, even those made by elves, wasn't something he could reject. The dwarf could regain some of his strength after stuffing his stomach with lembas, but it was nothing compared to what he felt like the next morning.

The pain vanished overnight, as if he only needed to sleep to make it go away. Thorin, however, knew well that it wasn't that easy. The only reasonable explanation for his painless state was obvious.

Bilbo was near.

With every step the dwarf king took, pacing between two walls like a caged animal, he grew more and more anxious. He felt guilt, for he was so reckless and left the halfling behind in such circumstances. He went after his rumbling stomach and chose not to worry about the pain that would strike them both if he left. He ignored the pleading look of the hobbit, the hopeless expression on his face, and left him alone in the midst of the most dangerous and vicious creatures that ever lived.

Thorin could only hope that no harm came to the small powerless creature that was Bilbo, and now that he most certainly knew the hobbit was close, he grew impatient, more than ever. He needed to see him, to tell him how compunction burdened his heart. He needed to know whether his kin was safe as well, or they were wandering amongst the endless woods of Mirkwood, helpless and doomed.

Images of his sister-sons dead poisoned his mind, and his stomach twisted and turned behind his belly. Thorin could see his friends lying on the dead fallen leaves, their eyes glazy, their spirits already leaving this world. He saw the burglar behind his closed eyelids, eaten by the most sanguinary monsters of all Mirkwood.

It was the worst nightmare imaginable, being responsible for the death of those dearest for his heart. Thorin shook his head, dismissing these terrible thoughts once and for all.

He wanted to tear down the walls of this wretched place, he wanted to strangle Thranduil with his bare hand and to throw him to Smaug so the beast can finish him. He knew his room was guarded and escaping was not an option, not even with Orcrist. And, even if he had been able to escape, he surely wouldn't have made it until the gates. The whole place was bristling with elves, their senses sharper than any other creature's in Middle-Earth, and Thorin got an inkling of how the damned kin of Thranduil was only waiting for the moment when they were allowed to throw Thorin into the dirtiest dungeon of all.

The dwarf king was so deep in his thoughts that the opening door didn't catch his attention at first, only when he turned around to pace again. He could see nobody, but the door slowly closed, like someone came in. Confusion creased his brows and he was about to grab the hilt of Orcrist when suddenly Bilbo appeared in front of him, out of nowhere.

His heart automatically started beating faster, and, for that few seconds while they were staring at each other, relief washed over his whole body in waves. He had never been more happy to see the halfling, with his golden brown locks wildly stretching in every direction, his breathing heavy and uneven.

"Bilbo," Thorin breathed, a smile Bilbo had never seen before spreading on his face. The radiant look was not something he could've hidden, but he did not even want to. He walked over to Bilbo, putting a hand on his shoulder with enthusiasm. He wasn't quite sure the hobbit would not be frightened by his sudden movements, but he could not restrain himself. "How did you find me?"

It hadn't occured to Thorin that the hobbit wasn't as happy to see him as the king was to see the halfling, and, when the dwarf took a moment to look at Bilbo's face more thoroughly, he realised the burglar wasn't joyous from this visit at all. If anything, he looked stressful rather than relieved.

"We don't have much time," he looked up at Thorin, his eyes wide with an emotion the king could identify as fear. Thorin's smile faded slowly, worry taking its place. "The Elvenking can be here at any moment now. He already locked up Legolas."

"Thranduil locked up his own son?" Thorin furrowed his brows in shock. He knew the prince was visiting him behind the back of his father, but he seemed nothing like Thranduil, and Thorin couldn't help but feel sorry for him. The kid returned his sword to him, and it was a deed no other elf would've done.

"And threw the dwarves in the dungeons," Bilbo sighed bitterly, and his facial expression obviously showed how tired and worried he was.

 _It must've been hard to escape Thranduil,_ Thorin thought to himself as he slowly pulled his hand back from the hobbit's shoulder and kept taking in Bilbo's sight. He was still in the same clothes that he had worn when they last met, but they were dirty and torn at some places. Bilbo looked worse with every passing second, and Thorin knew he couldn't let the halfling lose all hope.

"Look," Thorin said confidently, drawing the hobbit's attention back to himself. "You will have to be very careful and avoid being imprisoned, do you understand?"

Bilbo tentatively nodded, his whole body tense with alarm, but he looked at Thorin like he was expecting the solution from the king. Thorin could come up with nothing useful, so he said the first practicable thing that crossed his mind.

"You will have to see Legolas. He is willing to help us, and he knows this place more than any of us," the dwarf murmured, his eyes fixed on the hobbit. Bilbo looked a bit more hopeful now, but it was far from his usual optimistic expression. Thorin didn't know he grew fond of it until it was gone. "But promise me you will be very careful. You are our only hope, for I am sure Thranduil will have me locked up as well. I put all my trust in you now, Bilbo."

The astonished look on Bilbo's face had taken Thorin short. They were staring at each other for long seconds when a small smile broke its way through the worry on Bilbo's lips, and he nodded slightly.

"I promise."

Thorin would've never admitted it, but he found something alluring in this little creature, and he was suddenly worried that he would end up hurt. The dwarf still couldn't convince himself that the company being captured by the Wooden Elves wasn't his fault, and he knew he had to atone for his mistakes later.

He wanted to start now.

"I am sorry for how I acted earlier. I abandoned you when it would've been the wisest thing to stay together," he said, his voice barely a whisper. A soft, bitter laugh left his lips. "It seems like I can do nothing but to keep apologising when we meet."

"We will have more time to discuss everything once we are out of this mess," the hobbit stated seriously, but the lines on his face were soft when he continued. "Nevertheless, I accept your apology, so it shouldn't bother you."

Thorin hadn't cared if two hundred elves had been about to tear the door down in the next moment. He had to apologise, for it was something much worse than simple guilt that was building inside him. It was something no one could bear to carry for too long. Thorin did not want to part from the hobbit without saying how sorry he was, and now that he was free from this burden, he gave the halfling a smile filled with contentment.

Voices from the outside broke this short moment of peace and Bilbo's head snapped to the door, startled. Thorin looked up as well, pulling Orcrist out of its scabbard once he recognised the familiar voice, but when he turned his gaze back to the hobbit, he was already gone.

A touch of chill washed over him after he realised he was alone, that the presence of the hobbit was fading away quickly. He tried to push the thought aside and was already focusing on the door when, just before the door opened, he felt a hand gently brushing over his fingers. They were curled around the hilt of his sword tightly but they slowly eased when the touch lingered there for a few moments. Thorin could see nothing, but he stared straight where he felt the caress. It was a feeling he had never experienced before, and he tentatively smiled.

 _You promised to stay out of harm's way, so I will take you at your word, halfling,_ he thought to himself, but his smile remained even after the touch was gone.

To stare at the Elvenking standing at the doorway wasn't so hard anymore.

Thranduil brought a smaller party of guards with him that lined up behind him, waiting for his orders. The elf, however, did not seem to give any orders just yet, for he was eyeing Thorin with a face that slowly turned into an amused grin.

Then, the Elvenking started laughing.

"I cannot believe my eyes," he said, the sound of his laughter hurting Thorin's ears. It was dripping with pity, and the dwarf did not like it one bit. A hostile expression was forming on his face, and he held Orcrist more firmly, even when he knew it had no use against these creatures. Elves were admirable soldiers with enviable fighting skills, and one single dwarf against a group of this many trained fighters stood no chance. Nevertheless, it was the only thing that Thorin could hold onto, and he wasn't about to go down without a fight. "It seems like you corrupted the mind of my only son more than I've imagined. After all, he was the one who returned your sword, wasn't he?"

Thorin did not answer. He had nothing to say to this sad excuse of a crooked necked cob, was what he thought, so he just gazed at the Elvenking intensely, never letting his sword down.

Thranduil sighed resignedly.

"Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain," the Elvenking stepped into the room slowly. He was taller than what Thorin remembered, but it must've been the dress that played tricks with the dwarf's eyes. The guards stayed at the door, their expressions unreadable. "You have never been easy to make a score with. But, then again, I suppose it's a trait you inherited from your father and his father before him. It's sad that good old Thrain and Thror rode for a fall so keenly. They seemed to be wiser than that."

Thorin grunted at that, narrowing his eyes.

"I won't take you insulting the name of my father lying down!" Thorin hissed, voice full of loathing. "You have no right to even use their names in front of me, elf!"

Thranduil didn't laugh this time, but the snort that left his mouth was equally as disdainful.

"Remember, Thorin Oakenshield, that you are in my Halls, and you have no power here," he approached the dwarf with careful steps, never removing his eyes from Thorin's face. "Do you really think that an Elven blade in your hand will scare me?"

Thorin felt the corner of his mouth curving up into a smirk. In his mind, he could see the elf's head rolling on the ground after Thorin had slashed it off his neck with Orcrist, and there was only one thing keeping him back from doing it.

The thought of Erebor.

If he killed the Elvenking now, he wouldn't be able to give their home back to his friends, to provide a shelter to his sister-sons, to fulfill his quest. And no elf could stop him in that.

The look in Thranduil's eyes obviously suggested that he was only so brave because he knew these things as well, and it turned Thorin's stomach. He wished nothing more than to wipe that smug smile off of the elf's face, but he did the opposite instead. He let his arms fall, and Orcrist hit the ground.

Thranduil raised his eyebrows with false surprise, pouting his lips as he followed the falling of the sword with his gaze. Thorin didn't know when the Elvenking leaned down so close that he could see his own reflection in the crystalline eyes, but he wasn't taken aback by the imminence. He stood his ground, more firmly than ever before.

"It seems I was wrong," Thranduil noted on a voice at least an octave higher than usual. He looked up at the dwarf king, sneering. "You are an even greater coward than your grandfather."

And that, Thorin couldn't swallow.

He cried out with rage and hate, reaching for Thranduil to hit him but two pairs of strong arms interfered and pulled him back in the last moment. He twisted in the strong grips, trying to free himself, but it was useless. The Elvenking was already walking away with the most appalling of smirks on his lips, and Thorin finished the struggling only when Thranduil abruptly stopped, turning around to face the dwarf before leaving.

"I hope you enjoyed being my guest, dwarf," he began softly, and Thorin could tell that the Elvenking rejoiced in this situation way more than to simply hide it. "I am afraid the dungeons aren't this comfortable, but you are used to difficult conditions, aren't you?"

And, with that, Thranduil walked out of the room, only the sound of his amused laughter being left behind.

***

Bilbo Baggins was standing in a corner, long after the last guard closed the door on the room. His heart was beating in his throat, his whole body was trembling, and his fingertips were still tingling from the touch of Thorin's hand.

He stood there with wide eyes, not exactly knowing what to do next. He slipped to the floor, his knees giving out underneath him and let out a desperate sigh.

He was alone in the Elvenking's Hall, and the fate of a company depended on him.

On a small hobbit from the Shire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we're only one chapter away from the end of Bilbo's little adventure in Thranduil's Halls, and I can't promise it won't be emotional. Like hell it will be, but it's still 3 days away so I will leave you now with this suspense. ;)
> 
> I would like to thank everyone who wrote comments and hit kudos, you are all amazing! I'm really glad you enjoy the chapters, it was one of my favourites to write. So many POVs, huh? So yeah, thank you. :3


	9. What Shall We Fight For

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter arrives earlier, celebrating the wonderful trailer of The Desolation of Smaug. This is a long chapter, so brace yourselves and your feels! :3

_"Bilbo... Bilbo dear, where are you..."_

_The soft voice came closer and closer until it was right there. Bilbo felt his body tensing, squatting into a small ball until it was physically impossible to occupy less space in the armoire. The sound of a gentle chuckle floated through the gaps where the hobbit was peeking, then, the doors slowly opened. He was facing his mother with such fright on his face like a fawn would look into the eyes of the wolf._

_However, he never remembered any wolf laughing so gracefully as his mother did then._

_"Bilbo, why are you hiding in the cupboard, sweetheart?"_

_She wore her long, light green dress she always was so fond of, and an apron was hanging from her slim waist, meaning she was in the middle of cooking. Bilbo couldn't think of eating, though, for his heart was pounding faster than the wing-beat of a scared chickadee._

_"Is father home yet?" the small hobbit asked, his voice trembling with worry. Belladonna slightly furrowed her eyebrows, but the smile never faded from her face. It was a great ability she never lost - she could make her son feel like everything was alright, even when it wasn't._

_"No," she answered, her voice higher with amusement. "But he can be any moment now. Have you done something wrong and fear he would yell again?"_

_Bilbo swallowed hard. He should've known he would never be able to hide anything from his mother. She saw through him like anyone would do with a thin piece of cloth, but he didn't feel naked by it. What's more, it felt right, like the balance of the world was restored all of a sudden and he didn't have to be afraid anymore._

_"I might have... torn one of his books," the hobbit muttered, tearing his gaze from his mother with shame. He did not dare look her in the eyes for he wasn't entirely sure his confession wouldn't be followed by Belladonna being angry. However, only silence set in. Bilbo did not know which was the right moment to look up, but, when he did, he was met with a questioning smile on his mother's face. The young boy felt confusion clouding his mind. "Won't he be mad? He is always so angry when I do something wrong."_

_Belladonna stared at him for a long while before taking a deep breath and slowly snaking her arms around her son, pulling him out of the armoire to hold him in her embrace. She closed the doors of the cupboard, then gently brushed some hair out of Bilbo's face and the boy pouted his lips._

_"When have I ever let your father be angry with you for more than a few minutes, Bilbo Baggins?"_

_Bilbo blinked and, when no proper answer popped into his mind, he shrugged._

_"Never?"_

_Belladonna's smile widened._

_"And when have I ever not helped you out when you did something wrong?"_

_Bilbo started smiling at that too, running his fingers through his mother's hair delicately. She had raven black locks falling onto her round shoulders, always tempting the small hobbit to touch them. He loved playing with Belladonna's hair, but it was not the right time now. His mother was waiting for an answer._

_"You always help," he looked up, biting in his lower lip as Belladonna touched the tip of her nose to his, gently brushing them together. He chuckled, holding onto her more tightly, and watched as his mother pulled back to look into his eyes. She was so beautiful that Bilbo couldn't quite understand it._

_"Then trust me when I say that book will be in a better shape after I had a look at it than before you managed to tear it," she winked with mischief shining in her eyes and Bilbo laughed again._

_Belladonna repaired the book before Bungo Baggins arrived at home. Even the small scolding was something Bilbo could bear, he only had to look at his mother._

_She mended his heart, too._

  
Now, as Bilbo was sitting in a dark corner in the kitchens of the Elvenking's Halls, picking on some kind of bread he found earlier, his mother wasn't there to mend him. And he needed mending more than ever.

He spent the last three days without speaking a word to anyone. His greatest preoccupation was to avoid running into someone on the corridors, getting caught because of his shadow (it was visible, even with the ring on) or stealing food without anyone noticing. The kitchens were always the busiest, but he liked staying there, watching the elves working. Bilbo could only see the artists in Rivendell, hiding behind huge harps and looking absolutely delightful. Seeing the ones spending their time with making all that delicious food that were waited upon Thranduil and on the great feasts every night, well, it was an entirely different sight.

Bilbo found some weird fascination in the fact that even elves could express feelings. Of course, he had already seen that on Legolas' face when the young prince looked at Kili (neither of the two was too good at hiding it), but to see that they could be hurt as well was something else. Some nights, Bilbo would see the same elves making the same foods all over again, just because their master didn't like them. To be told that what they had been working on was not good enough, it triggered some kind of pain that sat on the elves' faces, and it was not an ordinary thing to see. They did not speak a word, of course, for it would have been unacceptable to speak against the will of the Elvenking, but the hurt was there, nevertheless. And it made Bilbo feel sorry for them.

He had not stayed at the Halls to pity the elves, though, so he only spent time in the kitchens during the evenings. The other parts of the Halls were too busy then to investigate, for they were full of elves and other guests. Bilbo chose to wander around the underground palace in the daytime when most of them were gathering in the main hall, not even bothering about the rest of the huge netting of tunnels.

The hobbit had always been a quick learner and it was most certainly a great help for him in the last three days. He could memorize almost all of the corridors, rooms and the secret passages that provided ways to get through the Halls faster. He saw the dungeons, although he never talked to the dwarves or actually saw them (he could hear them of course, for they were loud enough to be heard even in the main hall sometimes). It was enough to plan a quick escape route, he just had to find a way out of the Halls.

And that, he found on the fourth morning. It was by mere accident, honestly. He spent the umpteenth night on the cold, hard ground in a relatively safe and empty room and, after waking, he felt unusually dizzy. It must've been the reason why he took the wrong turn and he found himself in a place he most certainly hadn't been around before. There were several scooped tunnels in the wall that Bilbo couldn't see the end of, but the air was fresh in that particular room, so he guessed they led outside. He could even hear the Forest River seething in the distance, and a smile crept onto his face.

 _So there is a way out,_ he thought to himself, his mind clouded with delight. He found a way out.

Now his only task was to help the dwarves escape, on which he happened to have the beginnings of a plan already. He couldn't put it through without help, though, and it left him with only one possible choice.

He had to free Legolas. And it wasn't as easy as it sounded.

Bilbo planned to escape the company on the night of the Summertime Feast. It was something he could catch mentions of from elves, especially in the kitchens. The Summertime Feast took place in the middle of June, on the first warm night before the many others to follow. The hobbit learnt information such as Thranduil invited many elves from other realms, to feast, dance and have a merry night with them, and that he needed most of his guards in the main hall on that night.

Which meant the lower floors were less protected, and, with the help of Legolas, Bilbo could've easily escaped with the dwarves. He only needed to know which tunnel was the right one.

Getting into Legolas' chambers, however, seemed to be quite difficult. It was well-guarded and almost never left unprotected. It was a busy corridor that was relatively empty only during the nights, but, even then, the armed guards were still there. The hobbit truly doubted they would let him inside only because he wished to see the prince. Bilbo, however, wasn't so desperate, for he often saw a girl entering the chambers, mostly at the same time every day. She came on the evenings, and she stayed to guard the door for the night, not even blinking as she stood there for hours.

Bilbo knew it was his only chance. He had to lure away the girl for long enough so he could pick the lock on the door and sneak into Legolas' chambers. He was running out of time, and out of options.

He chose the night before the Summertime Feast to try his luck.

The hobbit had been sleeping for a few hours earlier so he wouldn't be tired and could focus on being swift and precise. He found a long, sharp piece of metal in the armory earlier that day which almost looked like a lock pick, and he had it in one hand as he approached the corridor slowly. He barely dared breathe as he peeked over the corner. Only a single guard was standing by the door, and Bilbo knew the girl was already inside.

He arrived just in time.

In his other hand, a carefully crafted, typical elvish helmet was what he held, holding it tightly in his hands. He knew it would make enough noise so the guard would be suspicious, but other guards from the upper and lower levels wouldn't hear it. He also knew the girl would hear it inside and she would come out, probably immediately following the guard to help him if needed. It seemed like a good plan, although Bilbo only played with it in his mind yet, and he wasn't sure everything was going to work out as he hoped. Nevertheless, he didn't plan to back out now, so he was just about to throw the helmet away (as I already mentioned, he was really good at throwing things), when suddenly, the door of the prince's chambers opened.

Bilbo pushed the helmet against his chest so it wouldn't roll out of the clutch of his fingers, but he almost lost his balance and stumbled back. He was breathing like he had been running from orcs and he pressed himself onto the wall, listening to the silent talk of the elves.

"You can go and rest now, Tirnel. I will guard the door for the night."

The girl's voice was kind, like she knew the other elf very well, and Bilbo slowly let out the breath that was stuck in his lungs so far. He could never catch her name from anyone's mouth, since elves were seldom talking about others. They shared their thoughts of practical and philosophical ideas mostly, and they never said anything bad about anyone. Not even the sad cooks in the kitchens, although, Bilbo thought they would've had a reason to do that.

But, back to the girl, Bilbo was wondering if she was a friend dear enough to Legolas that he could've just walked up to her and asked for her help directly. He entertained the thought in his mind for a while but, after a good amount of thinking, he dismissed it. Do it yourself sir, if you have not servant, that is what his father would always tell him, and he decided to stick to it. He couldn't have told anything wiser than that, Bilbo knew that for sure.

Long minutes after the guard named Tirnel left the corridor, quickly and, obviously, overjoyed that he didn't have to spend the night working, Bilbo held his breath and threw the helmet as far as he could. It was awfully loud, crashing against the hard stone ground, and the hobbit closed his eyes for a second. He could hear the girl shifting in her position, taking a few steps forwards, and he could only hope the other elven guards didn't hear the noise.

"Who is there?" she called out, her voice steady and harsh.

Bilbo didn't move, waiting for the girl to walk past him, tensely. She moved painfully slowly, drawing out her sword with careful movements. For a second, the hobbit could've sworn the elf looked straight at him, and panic rose inside him that he didn't have his ring on, but he shoved the silly thought out of his head. Of course he had it on, he wouldn't have been able to make it so far without it!

"Show yourself!" the girl hissed, moving in the direction of the fallen helmet, and Bilbo took his chance to slowly start spanning towards the door. He was thankful to whichever Vala was in his favour at the moment that he could be so light on his feet, and the girl didn't notice him. She soon disappeared around the corner and Bilbo raised his lock pick, starting to work on the door swiftly.

Needless to say, he had never used a lock pick before in his entire life. Twice, he could almost manage to push it through his soft fingertips, but he had to hold back the hisses that tried to escape him. He even draw his own blood and almost cursed out loudly.

 _If I can't even pick a lock, how on Arda did Gandalf expect me to steal from a dragon?_ he thought to himself, twisting and turning the small piece of metal in the lock without knowing what he was doing. _It can't be more difficult than walking against the greatest monster in Middle-Earth, can it? It is just a lock, after all!_

For a second, Bilbo felt like he was almost there. He heard the lock clicking, and he was triumphantly reaching for the handle to push the door open when, suddenly, a hand grabbed him by his collar and he dropped the lock pick. It was a very firm hand, and when he found himself thrown against the wall and held there, even using Sting was out of the question. A pair of fiery grey eyes were staring into his very soul, and he couldn't really understand how. He still had the ring on, surely...

Or, well, no. Because it slipped from his finger and was lying on the floor now with the lock pick.

"Tell me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you," the girl muttered, looking more like a ruthless killer than a gentle elf girl who Bilbo could hear speaking not fully ten minutes ago on such a tender tone. He realised he was afraid, and he had nothing to defend himself with. And it was a feeling he wished not even to his cruelest enemy.

'I-" Bilbo started, but his voice soon broke and he was on the verge of a panic attack. He tried again. "Look, my name is Bilbo Baggins-"

"Don't, Tauriel!" Bilbo's eyes widened as he could hear Legolas interrupting him from the other side of the door, desperately banging on it. Tauriel's gaze darkened and Bilbo could feel death itself radiating from her. "Don't hurt him, he is the hobbit I have been talking about!"

"Shut up, Legolas!" the elf hissed, never removing her eyes from the frightened hobbit. "This is not your concern!"

Bilbo couldn't decide whether he was absolutely shocked because of the tone Tauriel spoke on with Legolas, or because the prince was trying to protect him. He was wandering in the Halls for four days now, it was actually startling to hear anyone speak up for him.

"I am still waiting for that reason," she addressed Bilbo again, and the hobbit swallowed hard. It didn't help fighting the lump, but it slightly reduced the possibility of his whole throat tearing up in two.

"I am not an enemy of the elves," he tried despairingly, and the simple thought of being thrown into the dungeons and letting the dwarves down made his stomach turn. The fact that his foot didn't touch the ground was only slightly worse than that, but he tried to ignore it. "I am friend of Elrond in Rivendell and I am just a burglar! I am meant to steal gold back from the dragon Smaug for the dwarves, but that is all!"

"I couldn't care less about Rivendell. I only serve the Elvenking Thranduil, and he ordered to keep his son locked up in this room until he says otherwise. You tried to break into his room for unknown purposes, hobbit, so tell me, what should I do now?" She sounded awfully confident in what she was doing and Bilbo was really close to a breakdown now. He could barely contain his tears, but he would've died first than started crying in front of this elf. He couldn't afford that luxury, not now.

"You see... It would be easier if you... If you just put me down. Then I can explain everything!" Bilbo found himself pleading, but it was still better than crying, so he felt only slightly uncomfortable.

He could see the struggle in Tauriel's eyes, like she was fighting a mental combat in her mind whether she should've granted the hobbit's wish or not. Eventually, it seemed like it was Bilbo's lucky day, for he was slowly lowered to the floor and he took a deep breath, filled with relief once his feet touched the ground again. Tauriel kept her eyes on him, still doubting the halfling, obviously, but Bilbo couldn't care less now. He could be more convincing with both feet on solid ground than hanging in the air.

"Alright then," Bilbo cleared his throat, collecting his thoughts for a few seconds before looking up at Tauriel. "I will start at the beginning. Do you know the wizard, Gandalf the Grey?"

Tauriel's face remained still, but, even through her narrowed eyes, Bilbo could see something lively glimmering in her gaze. He smiled to himself knowingly.

"Perhaps."

"Now, on the 26th of April, this wizard came to the Shire, looking for a hobbit who would've loved to share in an adventure. This damn wizard, of course, already knew who he was going to take with him, and he managed to choose the one who was the least interested in these damned adventures," Bilbo slightly raised his voice, cursing the name of the wizard who put him in this position in the first place. However, when the hobbit saw impatience mixing with a grim look in Tauriel's eyes, he paused for a bit then decided to make a long story short. "I had to fight mountain trolls, orcs, spiders, I had to face Azog the Defiler, I had to keep my sanity with these dwarves, and all of this for one reason: to help and get their home back. They promised me gold and jewels and gems, such fortune that I could fill the whole Shire with it twice, but I have been raised by my mother to live by one simple rule. That money was no object. So no, I am not doing it for the wealth but only to help them. Now, they are held in the dungeons by your master and my only hope to help them is the elf prince, and the elf prince is in there, and I am running out of time!"

Bilbo was absolutely out of breath by the end of his monologue and he wouldn't have been surprised if Tauriel was already about to fall on her sword. He was a bit taken away by the sudden rush of emotions that came out of nowhere, and he didn't really know what he was saying exactly. All he saw on the elf's face was awe and only the smallest amount of rigour, and Bilbo guessed it was a good omen. Maybe his journey wasn't about to end there, after all?

He really hoped.

"So," Tauriel took a deep breath, and Bilbo noticed how she put away her sword somewhere in the middle of his story. Another good omen. "You are telling me that you are only a victim and you are too conscientious to shake the dust off your feet?"

 _That is going to be my undoing one day,_ Bilbo thought to himself bitterly. However, before he could've answered, Legolas spoke, on a much softer tone than before.

"Look, Tauriel," he began, and Bilbo was careful not to stare directly at the elf girl in front of him. Her expression immediately changed as she faced the door, the lines on her face softening and the serious look in her eyes disappearing almost completely. "The quarrel between my father and Thorin Oakenshield is no reason to hold them back from reclaiming their homeland, and if anyone, my father should know that. Bilbo is doing the right thing, and we need to help him!"

"You are talking about escaping prisoners, Legolas! It is a crime that your father will not overlook, not even for you!"

Tauriel sounded downright desperate now, and Bilbo was only standing there, switching his look between her and the door. What he wanted he was getting, and he knew that. For some reason, however, it felt strange, and he did not yet understand it completely.

"If my father must find out then he will, and I will take the can!" Legolas spoke louder with every word, his voice trembling with some unfathomable emotion that Bilbo couldn't put his finger on. "I run the risk of escaping them, rather than to let them loathe and despise us forever for keeping them here until the end of their days!"

Bilbo knew it would require sacrifices and hard decisions, this journey, and especially this plan, but he would've never thought the prince would be so determined to aid the hobbit. To aid the dwarves. And he was sure that, later, it would be the base of a strong friendship between elves and dwarves - Bilbo just had to put through his plan and do his job.

For a second, he was quite afraid to look at Tauriel. The elf grew way too silent since the last words of Legolas, and Bilbo figured that she was thinking it over three or four times at least before making a decision. He didn't expect the girl staring at him when he finally looked up, and he swallowed hard. The grey eyes weren't as suspicious as they had been earlier, and it put Bilbo's soul at ease at last.

After a minute of another mental combat, she took a deep breath and Bilbo's anticipation couldn't have grown bigger to hear her answer.

"What is the plan, Master Hobbit?"

A sound of utter relief escaped Bilbo's mouth and he smiled.

It was the first time he saw the elf smiling as well.

***

"Fee?"

The small, hoarse sound was almost lost between the loamy walls of the dungeon. Somewhere outside the door with the small bars, a torch was giving faint light, painting the whole corridor in its ablaze shades. Kili kept his eyes on them for minutes now, imagining he was sitting by the campfire somewhere on the road leading to Erebor, under the wide starry sky, and not in this small, smelly dungeon. He felt dirty, sore and, most of all, alone. He couldn't hug his brother for days, the company wasn't singing and munching on the poor food they were trying to save.

They were awfully silent, and his skin was itching from it.

"Yes, Kee?" came the even more silent answer, right from the other side of the wall. These walls were strong but not thin, and Kili knew exactly where his brother was sitting, so he could curl up there. He sensed him, and it eased his mind.

"Do you think Bilbo will come and save us?"

For a good minute, Fili didn't answer and Kili was not sure what to think. Why should he hope if even his brother had lost his faith? This uncertainty and anxious suspense, he wasn't used to them and he felt like a caged bird that's wings had been clipped when the only thing he wanted to do was to fly. To fly above the clouds, to sore the sky like a mighty eagle and never rest again.

Yet, here he was, in the dungeon of the Elvenking, a place where even an hour felt too long, let alone five days.

"I think," with a deep breath, Fili began, and Kili looked up at the ceiling, waiting, "that Bilbo is already on his way to free us."

An incredulous snort came from the dungeon next to Fili's, but no words followed. Kili knew Dwalin didn't quite grow to trust the hobbit, but, on his own face, a wide grin was forming and he chuckled lightly.

"You think he uses his fancy ring again?"

"Aye, he will have to," Fili said, being already more cheerful than before, and Kili laughed again. Knowing that his brother was still hoping and he wasn't as distressed as he thought made the youngest dwarf of the company confident. "I wonder if he is alright. Do you think Legolas is with him?"

Kili blinked. He slowly bowed his head and let it hang. He didn't realise his smile was fading until it was gone, and, when the image of the elf prince popped up behind his half-closed eyelids, the corner of his lips curved up again.

 _Legolas._ The mere thought of that elf sent pleasant warmth over Kili's body, and his heart immediately started pounding faster in his chest. Kili had never felt anything like this before. He found the elf fascinating for being so different from his kin, for being so charming and kind when no one was there to comfort them, for giving hope in the time of the greatest despair. Legolas was ready to help them behind his father's back, something Kili would've never thought any elf would be willing to do for dwarves, but Legolas was, nevertheless. The dungeons never got lighter, the air never got fresher and the small food they were given never got tastier, but in his mind, Kili could recall every single word the elf said to him and it kept the dwarf sane. He could see those crystalline eyes and that smile he just had the craziest urge to kiss, everytime he closed his eyes, and he did not understand, but it felt right.

He did not dare tell anyone, but he knew he couldn't keep it inside him for much longer. He just didn't know how to put it.

Kili suddenly realised his brother was still waiting for his answer, so he gently pushed himself back to reality and sighed deeply.

"I am not sure," he said at last, melodiously. "I hope so."

"I don't trust that elf," Dori growled, earning an eyeroll from the youngest dwarves immediately. "We should just trick these wretched bastards when they bring food the next time and escape!"

"Exactly how long d'you think we'd get?" Nori asked mockingly. "Ya wouldn't make it 'til the door, brother."

"I'd not be so sure of tha'," Dori snapped.

"These are elves, you idiot! They are not goblins that you can smash with ya' mace!"

"Who d'you call and idiot? I will tell ya whose face I will smash with me mace!"

"Atkât!"

The sudden yell that broke the argument was utterly unexpected, and everyone in their own small cells snapped their heads. One single word and the dwarves fell silent, stewing in their own juice. The cry was followed by heavy breathing, and Kili tried to swallow the worry that was climbing in his throat in the form of a huge lump.

"Uncle? How do you feel?"

The heavy breathing continued and Kili slowly pulled his legs up so he could rest his chin on his knee. He could move awfully easily, for he had no weapons at him. They took his bow too, and he missed that the most. Curling up wasn't near as difficult as he would've liked it to be.

"Had been better," Thorin muttered, but the young dwarf could hear the small smile in his voice. He knew his uncle way too well to not miss these little things, and, if Fili's silent laughter was anything to go by, his brother understood the signs as well.

"Still burning?" Dwalin's voice was unusually low, and Kili surmised the dwarf had more softness in his tone than he had ever shown in his whole life altogether. Kili always knew how his uncle and Dwalin were really close friends, but it always surprised him when he heard them talking. As if they were two completely different dwarves.

"It's better sometimes," the dwarf king sighed, although his voice was barely audible. "When Bilbo is near."

It seemed to catch the dwarves' attention immediately and shifting could be heard from every cellar.

"The halfling is near?" Dori asked, his voice full of surprise.

"Of course he is, I told ya he wouldn't abandon us, ya fool!" Nori said, but he was soon cut off by Bofur, successfully avoiding another great argument that both of the brothers would regret later.

"Can you tell where the hobbit is now, Thorin?"

Thorin seemed to hestitate for a while, like he couldn't find the proper words to answer, but the bickering of the dwarves in the background didn't die away. If anything, it only grew louder.

"I... I ca-"

"You call me fool one more time and brother or not, I will head ya so hard ya will not even know where ya at, Nori!"

"Oh for Mahal's beard, can't you stop jangling for five minutes?" Balin spoke up too, but his voice was soon lost in the midst of all the yelling and the crossfire of insults. At least five out of the thirteen dwarves were shouting at each other now, and Kili soon jumped to his feet, moving around in his cell anxiously. A feeling he had, that it wasn't going to end well.

"Uncle!" the young dwarf yelled, hoping he would get an answer, but he couldn't even hear his own thoughts. He then ran back to the wall, kneeling before it desperately. "Fili!"

His brother couldn't hear him either, and Kili felt his chest tightening gradually. He liked the loud voices of his friends and relatives when they were out in the open and he wasn't all alone, but now, it was his worst nightmare coming true.

"Kili!" he could hear the faint shout from the other side of the wall, and Kili felt a despairing moan leaving his mouth. He rushed to the door, trying to look out between the bars, but he wasn't tall enough. He felt his limbs numbing from the sudden panic that washed over him, and only when he stumbled back to the wall and leaned heavily on it, he could catch his breath.

And then, a loud noise broke the pandemonium, and the company fell silent in a second. Kili realised with a heavy heart that the sound came from the other side of his door, and he swallowed hard.

It was the lock. And someone was opening it.

Every passing moment felt like hours when the iron handle slowly turned and the door opened. Kili was holding his breath until the moment he saw the familiar face showing up on the doorstep, looking at him with a relieved sigh.

"Bilbo," they could hear Thorin whispering from his cell, but the hobbit didn't move. He was staring at Kili like he was looking for injuries on the young dwarf, then, with an exasperated shake of his head, he opened his mouth.

"You don't make your escape easier, do you?"

Kili was running towards him before he could've thought about it twice, and, in the next moment, he was hugging the hobbit so tightly it occured to him for a second he might've been choking the halfling. Bilbo didn't protest, though, so the embrace lasted for a bit longer until Kili was out of breath himself. He was smiling like he had never smiled before, and he had most certainly not been this happy in a really long time now.

"I have never been more glad to see you in one piece, Bilbo," Kili breathed, his whole face glowing from the fact that he was so close to freedom again.

"I can say the same, lad," the hobbit smiled, but he swiftly backed out of the cell to let the dwarf come out as well. "I won't answer any questions until we are out of this damned place. We have to move quickly, for we don't have much time. I will free everyone, then you will collect your weapons from the end of the room and gather together. If anyone dares raise their voice, I will be really angry, and I am not a nice sight when I am angry, just ask anyone in the Shire!"

Bilbo tried to hide the small smile on his face when he moved to open the rest of the cellars, but he couldn't trick Kili. He was already picking up his bow and the quarrel of arrows, still full and untouched. It gave him a sense of safety that he didn't really know he was missing so far, but once he could feel the familiar touch against his back, he relaxed.

By the time Kili turned back to face the cellars, many of the company was freed and they were greeting each other like they hadn't been on the edge of killing one another not fully five minutes ago. However, to see Fili tumbling out of his cell filled Kili with more joy than what he could've put into words, and he grabbed his brother tightly, only to wrap his arms around him. Fili hugged him back with equally as much need and they stood there like that for quite a while.

"Quickly!" Bilbo ran past them and they parted immediately, smiling at each other for the last time before Fili ran to pick up his weapons as well. "There will be an elf helping us get to the escape point and I don't want to hear your voices! You will owe a good lot to a few elves very soon, if everything goes by the plan of course, so just keep your mouth shut tight and follow me!"

Kili felt his heart quicken at the word 'elf' but he knew he was foolish for feeling like this. He knew Fili would've laughed at him, for acting like he was a young girl in love, but he couldn't help it and certainly couldn't stop the words coming out of his mouth.

"Is it Legolas?"

Twelve heads turned to stare at him with disbelief at the question, and his cheeks warmed immediately. He immediately regretted ever speaking up loudly, especially foolish things like this. He tried to keep looking at one absolutely insignificant point on the ground, like he found it very interesting, and secretly hoped everyone would just forget he had ever asked anything.

He wasn't that lucky.

"A friend of his, Rwryan is helping us, for the prince is to make sure the Elvenking doesn't suspect anything," Bilbo answered after a good amount of hesitation, and Kili could feel the hobbit's eyes on him, but the dwarf didn't look up. Not until he could regain his composure, at least. "Now, hurry, and make no sound."

To begin their escaping came just in time so the attention wasn't centred upon Kili anymore. The elf Rwryan was there, nevertheless, guarding the door of the dungeons carefully, and, when he glanced over the abundance of dwarves, he cleared his throat quickly. It seemed like he wasn't too fond of this strange business, nor was he happy about going against his king, but being a friend of the most mischievous prince on Arda tended to put certain people at a disadvantage occasionally. Kili smiled to himself carefully, thinking about Legolas pleading to his friends to help him. The dwarf really didn't know how could he ever reciprocate his kindness, but, then again, he guessed he wouldn't have the chance now. It planted some unpleasant feelings in his stomach, but he soon ignored them once they made their way through the corridor.

Dwarves could be light on their feet if they wanted to, but never as much as a hobbit. Bilbo and Rwryan were leading the way, with Thorin and Dwalin following closely behind them, and the rest of the company was on their track. They hadn't seen a single soul, doesn't matter which corridor they entered, and everything seemed a blur in the young dwarf's eyes. He could feel the real weight of his exhaustion pushing on his shoulders, and he felt dizzy in the head as well. Probably that's why he didn't realise they were already at the escape point before he could've guessed it by himself.

"The second tunnel leads to the Forest River," Rwryan explained, mostly to Bilbo, but his eyes sometimes wandered to Thorin as well. "A wild river it is, with swift flowing, and you will have to struggle to get to the shore. It ends in a small waterfall, but be aware, for once you start falling, you will not survive the sharp cliffs where you land. You have to be very quick."

"Thank you for your help," Bilbo said on his usual, kind tone, and the elf smiled at him reassuringly. "I am always at your service, Rwryan."

"I wish you the best luck on your journey," he answered, then, he looked at Thorin, giving him a low nod. "May the dwarves remember us well from this moment, Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain."

There was an expression on Thorin's face that Kili couldn't really fathom, but the dwarf king eventually returned the nod and gave the elf the smallest of his smiles.

"Thank you for your help indeed. You are a friend of dwarves, Rwryan."

"Oh yes, he is, but we will be thrown back where we came from if we don't hurry," Gloin interrupted, pushing forward towards the tunnel and stepping inside impatiently. Thorin made a face that Kili saw addressed to him and Fili way too often, and he hid a smile.

His heart still felt heavy from leaving the Elvenking's Halls without meeting Legolas one last time, and, as he watched the members of the company disappearing in the tunnel, he didn't even realise Fili put his hand on his shoulder. He turned to face his brother, and he was met by a gentle smile, one that was known as his comforting gesture.

"You will see him once we reclaim Erebor, Kee," Fili said, his voice silent so only Kili could hear him. "I am sure he is aching for you just as you are aching for him."

Kili tried to smile back at Fili, for he was really touched by how his brother cared for him, but it was a vague fellow of his usual smile. He wanted to say something, to ask if Fili really meant that, but they were interrupted by the urging voice of Thorin. Fili went ahead, stepping into the tunnel easily and disappearing in its darkness, and Kili swallowed. He looked at Bilbo, but all he saw was the hobbit's pitying look. He knew it was for the best and he had to go until he could.

_For Fili, for Uncle, for Mother, for Erebor._

Then, just in the moment his foot touched the slimy bottom of the tunnel, he heard his name, and his heart fluttered. He wouldn't have to even turn around to recognise this voice, and he forgot about his surroundings entirely. He forgot about Rwryan, about Bilbo, about Thorin.

Because all he saw was Legolas.

Kili had never thought an elf could look as majestic as Legolas. The prince stood there in all white and gold, silky looking clothes of such value he would've never dared dream about. The end of his golden locks touched the lowest part of his back, almost reaching his waist, and his bright blue eyes were shining in a colour that Kili had never seen before. His cheeks were slightly flushed, and he was catching his breath from running too fast. His eyes were filled with hope, determination and something else that Kili couldn't recognise, something that looked like what he had seen when he caught Thorin staring at Bilbo.

On any other day, he might've said it was love, but not today. Today, he dared not hope too much, so he tried not to think at all.

He was grateful to Bilbo for pushing Thorin into the tunnel when Kili started walking towards Legolas, his legs carrying him so slowly like he was nearing his doom. But no, Legolas was not his doom. He was something utterly different.

"What are you doing here?" Kili asked, his voice barely a whisper.

He couldn't read the expression of the elf prince, for he was looking at him unblinking, trying to hold his face as still as possible. Kili stopped in a good distance where he didn't have to stare up too much so his neck would've ached from it. It wasn't as close as he wished, but he knew he wouldn't do anything unweighed there.

"I came to say goodbye," Legolas answered after hesitating for a few moments. He took a tentative step closer, looking swiftly at Bilbo and Rwryan who were standing the the mouth of the tunnel, waiting for the young dwarf. Then, he looked back at Kili, approaching him even more. He had had to kneel soon, and it was almost more than what the dwarf could've taken. To stare directly in the eyes of Legolas was filling him with such joy he had rarely felt in his entire life, but it was certainly a moment he would remember forever. "I hoped I wasn't too late."

"No," Kili breathed gently, his voice coming out more of a laugh than an actual answer, and he quickly tore his glance from Legolas, looking for another point somewhere on the ground to stare at. He didn't even try to fight the warmth on his cheeks now, it would've been absolutely useless. "You arrived just in time."

He didn't have to see Legolas' smile to feel it, and it sent shivers running up his spine. He couldn't keep his eyes off him for any longer, though, and he looked at the elf right when he was pulling something out of his pocket. Kili followed his movements with his eyes, almost like he was mesmerized, and when he noticed the small trinket in the elf's open palm, he almost stumbled back from the shock.

It was a silver pin of two arrows entwined together, shining in the dim light of the torches around them. Kili couldn't stop staring at it, for its beauty was something he had never seen too often, and, after studying it for long moments, he looked up at Legolas at last. The elf was eyeing him hopefully, but when the dwarf could not say a word, he opened his mouth with a shy chuckle coming out first.

"It was given to me by my mother," he said, looking down at the pin with a nostalgic expression. "She loved pins, and it was something she required to be made for me. She always told me it represented my duty and where my heart lay, and that I should never forget that."

He glanced at Kili again, with such look in his eyes that it made the dwarf's heart skip a beat right away.

"I would like you to have it."

Kili gaped, like he was offered the iron throne of Erebor itself, and he didn't at all know what to say. He knew it was something really precious to Legolas, more precious than Kili could've ever understood it, and that is why he was so afraid to say yes and accept it. At the same time, however, he knew if he had rejected it, the elf prince would've been deeply hurt and he did not want to do that either. So, he just looked at Legolas helplessly, feeling the urge to say something already, but the elf didn't need it.

He gently reached out and, choosing the place on Kili's cloak right above his heart, he placed the pin there, placing his palm to close it around the trinket for the last time. Kili could've sworn he felt himself shaking, but he was happy he could restrain himself relatively well. He felt a bit of emptiness sneaking in his chest where Legolas took his hand from, but to see the pin glimmering there in the light was filling the void again quickly.

"I am not sure I earned it," Kili blurted out after an awfully long period of silence, but Legolas just shook his head slightly, his smile never fading.

"You will have to keep it for me until we meet again."

Kili's heart almost jumped out of the cage of his ribs from these words, but, like he hadn't understood them, he started talking on full speed. (That was what he tended to do when he grew anxious or embarassed, and not once it was the reason of many jokes in the company. And Kili hated it.)

"I really don't think it will be safe with me. I am usually the first to get in trouble," he laughed silently, never tearing his eyes from the pin on his chest. "Well, it's usually me and Fili, but he is always so sober-minded, compared to me. I am attracting trouble, to be honest. I was thinking about writing a book about it. You can ask Uncle anytime, he can prove I am telling the tru-"

The endless ocean of words were suddenly interrupted, and Kili didn't really understand his silence at first. Then, he realised he had the elf's soft lips on his own, melting on them so perfectly that it felt like he was struck by lightning.

And, after the realisation, he closed his eyes and kissed him back.

Being kissed was something entirely new to the dwarf, and he would've never thought it could feel so good. However, being kissed by Legolas was absolutely different and couldn't have been described with 'good'. It was better than good. It was like going home.

Kili could feel the prince's gentle hands cupping his face from both sides, and, for he did not dare touch Legolas' cheeks, he placed his own palms on the top of the elf's. It started out as a soft dance of their lips, then, Kili tasted Legolas' tounge for the first time and he shivered, growing more eager. He absentmindedly parted his lips, letting the elf's tounge inside, and shifted closer to Legolas. The dwarf could feel him everywhere: on his body, in his mind, in his soul, in his heart. He heard the most beautiful song in his ears while he was positive that, in reality, no music was playing. He felt like his body was on fire when it was only touched and pulled closer by the elf, so their chests were touching.

Kili never wanted this moment to end. He wanted to be held by this magical creature forever, until the end of his days. He wanted to be kissed until there was nothing of him left, and he knew Legolas felt the same. The gentle kiss grew more passionate, pulling the both of them out of real time, placing them in a world where only the two of them existed. There was absolutely nothing that could've ruined that moment, and, even after pulling away because of the lack of air, the feeling stayed.

They both opened their eyes at the same time, staring at the other for a long moment. Kili could see daze in Legolas' eyes and, now for sure, he knew he saw love as well. The elf must've seen the same in the dwarf's eyes, for they started smiling right away, and they touched their lips to each other's again, only to put an end to their kiss properly.

"Kili," the young dwarf could hear Bilbo's soft, but nevertheless urging voice coming from the background. He closed his eyes for a second, enjoying the aftermath of the last few moments, then, he looked into Legolas' bright gaze again, smiling softly.

"This is not the end, you know," he breathed, his voice not quite as loud as a whisper but still loud enough so the elf could hear it. Legolas' smile widened and he nodded, brushing the dwarf's hair back from his forehead.

"I know," he answered, pulling back ever so slightly.

It was easier for Kili to step back now, losing the touch of Legolas from his neck, but feeling it still in his chest. The elf stood up and kept watching Kili carefully until he was gone in the tunnel.

Seeing Thorin at the end of the tunnel, waiting for him and Bilbo in the light of the rising sun was not something that Kili expected, but he just smiled brightly at his uncle and jumped into the river without a second thought.

He was holding onto the pin, and, therefore, holding onto a promise.

A promise he was sure to keep.

***

Standing in the middle of the grandiose throne hall, Legolas was standing, his fingers gently crossed on his thighs. He was eyeing the lines of the staircase which led to the massive throne itself - that is where his father was sitting. The prince did not dare look at his father, though, and he stayed silent, unmoving. He could feel the gaze of the Elvenking nevertheless, and he knew the feeling it gave him way too well.

"Tauriel, leave us, please."

Thranduil's voice did not hold any emotions whatsoever, and it sounded awfully calm. Legolas stole a quick look, turning his head ever so slightly to see his friend leaving the room, even if she obeyed with reluctance. Her exit left only the Elvenking and his son in the hall, in such silence that it was deafening.

Legolas swallowed hard. He knew he couldn't stay quiet forever, but he was not sure what to say. Many thoughts in his mind, he had, and they all numbed his body. He opened his mouth.

"If you expect an apology, that, I cannot give to you," he slowly raised his head, looking at his father with firm confidence in his eyes. He decided he wasn't going to lie, and it was his first step on the way. Thranduil's expression didn't twitch. "I do not regret what I have done."

The Elvenking shifted on his throne, leaning to the other side. He gently touched his jaw with two of his fingers, as if thinking deeply.

"Is that so?"

"I would do it all over again," Legolas nodded. He felt the urge to convince his father, to make him understand that what the prince had done was the right thing to do. "You are my father and I feel deeply for you, but there are things I cannot stand by and watch without a word."

There was a shadow of a smile on Thranduil's lips that didn't reach his eyes. Legolas had seen it countless times, and it meant no kind words, no mercy, no forgiveness. He never once saw it addressed to him.

"What are those things that you cannot stand by and watch without a word, exactly, Legolas?" he asked stonily, standing up from his throne as slowly as it was possible. Legolas could not bear to look at him any longer, and he looked for another spot to stare at, bemused.

"Erebor was taken from the dwarves unfairly. They had to live without a home for long decades now, some of them had never even seen the mighty palace of their kin," Legolas raised his voice only slightly, as if he was trying to emphasize what he was saying. "I believe that they must reclaim their homeland and we should've helped them instead of imprisoning the whole company!"

Thranduil did not answer, and he took the first stepping-stone. He wore a looser cloth now, one in the colour of blood and fire, and the way the material rustled with every step made the young prince feel colder second by second. He was spring and his father was winter. And now, the icy cold winds of an oncoming snowstorm were drawing near to destroy the blooming flowers of the resurgent nature.

Legolas shivered, but did not speak again.

"Since my father died in the Second Age, more precisely in the year 3434, I have been ruling these Halls, I have made the decisions for my people, and I have learnt what is right and what is wrong for them," Thranduil started, his voice still steady but gradually rising. He took the second step, and Legolas did not risk looking up. "I have fought the evil, I have protected the innocent, and I have seen things you could never dream of, Legolas.

"Yet, here we are," he continued after a short pause, and Legolas' stomach dropped from the laughter that left his father's lips. It contained way too much disdain and such disappointment he had never wished to hear, especially not from the Elvenking. "And you are telling me how to rule my kingdom! _You_ , who had not yet seen bloodshed and real sorrow, _you_ , who had lived in peace for over a thousand years, and _you_ , who was foolish enough to let Thorin Oakenshield and his wretched kind go!"

Legolas did not have to raise his head to see his father, already standing close to him. Darkness was radiating from him, and the prince would have liked to defend himself, but he couldn't. His throat felt way too tight, his heart was beating too fast in his chest, and he felt utterly naked.

"I should have had you locked up before the dwarves had even crossed our doorstep," Thranduil muttered, his voice low with anger.

A sudden rush of frustration and despair washed over Legolas and he spoke up before he could've changed his mind.

"It had never occured to you that you might be wrong, had it?" He could feel a sad smile tugging at his lips, and something dangerous flashed in Thranduil's eyes that the prince tried to ignore. "You are not perfect, father. Neither is our kin. We are not better than the dwarves. Maybe you should start accepting that."

Legolas closed his eyes when he felt his body stumbling back, and in the moment he lost his balance, he raised his hand to his face. It was stinging and burning, and the pain was so unfamiliar that it turned his stomach. He felt the hard ground against his side, the echo of the slap still vivid in his ears.

Only when it died down did Legolas look up, but he did not see his father. He saw a memory.

  
 _"Do it again," Thranduil said, his voice deep and stern. "And don't smack yourself with your elbow now."_

_Legolas tried and shot the arrow, but it was lost in the grey water of the small stream. He let out a frustrated moan, letting his bow down. Another arrow wasted._

_"Keep your eyes on the target, Legolas," his father ordered, never once looking at him, but only at the tree they were trying to hit for an hour now. Legolas' chest felt too tight, and something was burning behind his eyes from the tone his father spoke on. He was louder every time he missed. "The end of your arrow should touch your lips, I have already told you that."_

_Legolas pulled another arrow out of his quarrel, fitting it to his bow with trembling hands. He pulled the string, making sure he was doing everything exactly the way his father instructed him, but once he let the arrow fly, it landed in a bush, scaring out a squirrel. The animal ran away swiftly, and Thranduil looked at Legolas with a thunderous expression._

_"Again!" he yelled, his voice full of ire. Legolas could hear the servants moving around uncomfortably in the distance, and his face flushed from the embarassment. They had been probably laughing at him, and his father must have been ashamed to have him as a son. An elf who could not shoot an arrow._

_Legolas was terrifyingly close to crying when he took the next arrow, holding it in his hands for a while before putting it into its place. The bow stretched, Legolas breathed out, and the arrow flew._

_This time, the prince didn't wait until his father started to yell at him. His eyes were welling with tears when he grabbed the bow firmly in two hands, bringing it to his thigh with full strength. The bow cracked and, when Legolas dropped it to the ground, it was already broken._

_"I hate it!" he cried out loudly, tears streaming down his face from exasperation. He was blind with rage, not caring about anything in his surroundings. "I hate shooting arrows! I want to go home!"_

_Thranduil's fingers were digging into his shoulder in the next moment, and firm hands started to shake him violently. His mother used to shake him sometimes, waking Legolas from a bad dream, but, when he opened his eyes then, he wasn't facing the venomous eyes of his father. He had only seen the soft smile of his mother, he had only felt her tender hands stroking his forehead as if to calm him, but he had never been shaken like this. His tears stopped, he held his breath and his eyes were wide with fear, fear that the Elvenking will hit him._

_That never happened, though. The shaking slowly stopped, only the painful grip of Thranduil's fingers stayed, and the anger gradually vanished from those deep blue eyes. Legolas saw regret and fear similiar to his own, then, his father pulled him closer until he was hugging him tightly._

_"Do not ever break a bow again, Legolas," the prince heard, Thranduil's huge palm holding the prince's small head against his chest carefully. Legolas took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of wildflowers, grape and camomile. He could feel the hot tears rolling on his cheeks again, and he clutched the material of the Elvenking's clothes tightly in his fists. "You must never do it again, son."_

_He cried, cried until there were no tears left, and swore to himself he would never do it again. And he never did._

  
He saw the same fear in his father's eyes on that day, too. Pushed to the ground by the strength of the strike, Legolas looked up and saw the gut-wrenching fear, the slight trembling of Thranduil's body as he stared down at his son. Legolas did not move, did not speak, did not breathe. He wanted to do all of these, but he couldn't.

And, when he collected enough courage to do it, he did not have the chance, for his father turned around and stormed out of the hall swiftly, leaving the prince behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, many of you must hate me now. You might even think that the end was complete OOC but I needed this for further storylines. There is something cold in LOTR's Legolas, and there is most certainly something odd between him and his father, so I thought it would explain most of it.
> 
> Also, the plan which they used to escape the dwarves will be explained in a later chapter, so don't worry.
> 
> How did you like the trailer, though? It was extremely gorgeous in my opinion, I can't wait to see more!


	10. Rose

**TRANSLATIONS:**

_Mukhuh Mahal bakhuz murukhzu. - May Mahal's hammer shield you._  
 _Mahzirikhi zu gang ghukhil. - I wish you a safe journey._

  
The reactions of the body to different impacts never ceased to amaze Bilbo.

He remembered how much his father read about different kins and their anatomy. Bilbo often found it impressive how different hobbits were compared to men or dwarves. Not only for they were small, but they didn't have special abilities to heal themselves quickly, and they rarely (mostly never) had the need skills to become warriors. It was stated clearly in every book that, most likely, hobbits are related to men, though, real proof had never been presented. As a child, Bilbo would have liked to believe that the great Eru Ilúvatar had created his kin with a purpose, but, once he grew older he knew it was right as it was. For long decades the hobbits had never done anything remarkable, and it was the way of things.

He would've never imagined, not even in his wildest dreams that he would be the first hobbit ever to be remembered as a true adventurer, a hero. He didn't dare think he would even survive that day, considering how deep in water he was at the moment. After all, how could a hobbit be a hero if he drowns in a river before doing anything great?

Bilbo couldn't quite see that, but, during those seconds while he was gruesomely close to death, he did not really care.

He could not tell when he lost Thorin. He remembered jumping with him, bound together by that piece of cloth the dwarf tore from his shirt, and a warm feeling filled his heart right away. The king truly cared for him, the hobbit could see that now, but what did it matter if he was about to die? He should've learnt how to swim when he had the chance, that is all he could think about, and he tried to keep his eyes open, but the water wasn't clear enough to see anything. A cousin from his mother's side, well, he knew how to swim, and it was a truly admirable thing. Bilbo was jealous, for he could only take pride in the amount of books he had already finished, but nothing else.

Now, he wasn't jealous. He simply felt foolish for not being brave enough back then.

Bilbo felt sorry for the company. He could hear their desperate yells in the distance, like it came from the end of a long tunnel, and he couldn't answer. He felt sorry because there were so many things he did not have the time to tell, so many feelings he wished he could've shared. Especially with the king. His king.

His mouth was already full of water, his eyes felt raw from the river water, and he could barely hear his own thoughts from his racing heart. He found it hard to accept his fate, ending so abruptly and with such little dignity, but he was slowly talking himself into it when, suddenly, he could feel a hand grabbing his collar.

He was out of water before he could've blinked, and the amount of water that left his mouth was truly astonishing. He saw nothing but dots for a second, a colourful cavalcade of blurry blobs dancing in front of his eyes, then slowly, his vision returned.

The company on the other side of the river was the first thing he noticed, staring at him with eyes full of worry. Then, Bilbo turned his head and noticed a girl standing in front of him, her face a mixture of relief and anticipation.

Bilbo didn't have to look at her for too long to realise who he was facing. He could blurt out one word only.

" _Rose?_ "

***

Bramblerose Bramble of Nobottle, shortly just Rose, was a hobbit of the Shire, much like Bilbo Baggins. (Except that, of course, Bilbo wasn't a girl.) She had always been an interesting girl - interesting for the hobbit lads, for she lived in the northeastern part of the Shire, yet, she was only seen in Hobbiton. She started wandering around the high, green hills in a really young age, but she was fierce and strong for her age and no one dared go near her. She had a fire in her eyes, and she could hit really hard when she wanted to.

Rose met Bilbo Baggins around Bywater Pool, under an old willow. Belladonna Took was notorious, even in the furthest parts of the Shire, since she was the old friend of Gandalf the wizard, and, well, everyone knew Gandalf. And those who knew Gandalf (needless to say that everyone knew Gandalf), they knew Belladonna, and they knew her only son as well. When Rose and Bilbo first met, Bilbo did not dare speak a word and ran back to his mother, the tips of his ears red as corn rose. The second time was smoother, for that time, Bilbo walked up to Rose. They talked about food and the goldfishes that rubbed against their fingers as they kept touching the surface of the water. They laughed, and they decided to be friends.

Bilbo was her first real friend. Everyone thought she was odd for missing out on so many elevensies and tea-times, but Rose had a greater hunger for adventures than all the food Arda could possibly offer. No one seemed to understand that, but, then again, Rose never cared about them. She was proudly walking around the Shire, and she knew every single tree around Westfarthing. Bilbo learnt that she had uncles and aunts in Michel Delving, and he also knew that her biggest dream was to go and see Deephallow one day. She also would've loved to see elves and dwarves, but she never believed it could come true.

The son of Belladonna Took found a soulmate in Bramblerose Bramble of Nobottle. He visited her and her family frequently, having tea with her parents whenever he was there. Rose begged him to go outside and walk the woods instead, to go and collect wildflowers in the Bindbole Woods. Her mother had the second most beautiful laugh Bilbo had ever heard (his own mother's was the first), and her father seemed to completely understand the adventurous nature of his daughter. They were kind and good hobbits, hobbits Bilbo would never forget.

They spent the years of their youth together, believing it would never end. On a summer evening, however, everything changed.

It was already late on the evening when Bilbo and Rose got back to Nobottle. From the woods, they couldn't see the volumes of smoke wreathing in the air, but once they stepped out of the curtain of close trees, they saw the smudge. Their faces fell, and Bilbo could feel nothing but numbness and the squeeze of Rose's hand on his own.

Belladonna and Bungo never hesitated to take Rose in after the tragedy. Rose blamed herself, cried herself to sleep every single night, and didn't leave Bag-End for days. Bilbo was too young to completely understand, to make sense of his mother's words.

"Don't bother her, Bilbo," she always said whenever she caught Bilbo standing in the doorway of Rose's room. The young hobbit girl was lying on the bed, with her back to the door, silently sobbing and shivering for hours. "She will soon look for your company again."

And she did. It was on the fifth day after the fire that Rose ate with them in the morning for the first time. She didn't speak much, and she left most of her breakfast on her plate, but she stayed with them until they finished their meals. Bilbo eyed Rose carefully, not being quite sure whether he was allowed to speak to her already or not. She grabbed his hand after breakfast, pulling him to the huge garden that lay behind Bag-End. They were lying on the soft grass for hours, staring at the bright blue sky, and Bilbo was happy that Rose wasn't crying.

The funeral took place two weeks later. Rose was standing by Bilbo's side silently, holding his hand gently. Bilbo watched her from the corner of his eye, making sure she wasn't crying, and Rose hadn't shed a tear. Bilbo did not care about the ceremony as much as he cared about his friend, and that is why it hurt him more than anything when Rose told them on that evening that she was going to Bree.

"Uncle Bramble is old, and their house is only enough for him and Aunt Bramble. They wouldn't have a place for me in Michel Delving," she explained, her voice unusually small and weak. She never once looked at him, and had it not been for his mother's hands on Bilbo's shoulder, he would've started shouting and crying. "I cannot prey on the kindness and hospitality you have shown me in the last few weeks. I will be grateful until I die."

Belladonna only said, "If this is what you wish, then it is what we shall accept," then, she kissed Rose's forehead and hugged her.

The last day they went to Bywater Pool, it was raining. No one was around, and the widow on the shore seemed even sadder than usually. The goldfishes were gone, sleeping somewhere on the bottom of the lake. Bilbo stared at the surface, and did not understand anything.

"Why do you have to go?" he asked, his voice silent in the rain. Rose didn't answer him.

On the next day, her other uncle from Bree arrived and took Rose with him. Bilbo was standing in front of Bag-End, his face miserable and eyes full of tears, and Rose couldn't stop staring at him. It was the last time she had seen him.

Until now.

Bilbo looked awfully old, compared to the boy she remembered. But, then again, she wasn't the same young lass she used to be, and it was the way of life. She had the same fire, though, but Bilbo seemed utterly different.

Like a grumpy old man. Or, like a cat that's been dropped into the water.

"Rose?" he asked, his voice full of astonishment, and Rose blinked. She couldn't believe Bilbo was here, and she found it even harder to believe that he was in the company of dwarves. Thirteen, precisely. And they stared like they had never seen hobbits before.

"Bilbo Baggins, what are you doing here?" She reached out with her hand, and Bilbo tentatively took it. He was on his feet in a second, continuing to stare at Rose, only on eye-level now. "And what were you thinking? You can't swim! At least, the last time I have seen you, you cou-"

Bilbo abruptly cut her off by grabbing her and wrapping his arms around her tightly. The hug was bone-crushing, but Rose felt a lump growing in her throat from the familiar feeling nevertheless. She hugged Bilbo back reluctantly, burying her face deep in the crook of his neck. She really had to try hard not to cry.

"I missed you _so much_ ," he whispered into her ear and Rose smiled. She wanted to say the same, she wanted to tell Bilbo how much she missed him and that there had not been a day when Rose didn't think of the days they spent together, but she feared her tears would be stronger than her willpower. So she only nodded, pushing herself even closer to the other. "I missed you, Rose."

They had been standing there for quite a while before Rose took a deep breath and gently pushed Bilbo away, her eyes visibly full of tears. She laughed at Bilbo's expression and quickly wiped her eyes.

"Stop staring at me like that, you look like you're about to have a heart attack," Rose sighed. She quickly glanced to the side, then turned back to her friend with a smirk. "Your friends look quite worried over there. Shouldn't we enlighten them about who I am?"

Bilbo seemed to notice the group of dwarves waiting for an explanation only now, and he looked like he was a child again. The way his gaze softened at the sight of that company was something Rose often saw everytime Bilbo looked at his mother, and it made her smile.

"Well, I guess we should," Bilbo wondered, and Rose shook her head with a chuckle.

She will have to ask about Belladonna and Bungo later. Now, she was simply happy she had her friend back.

Finally.

***

Since the dwarves couldn't cross the river, they decided to meet the hobbits on the lower part of the wild water. They saw the river narrowing in the distance, a mile or two before Esgaroth, and it seemed the most logical choice. Thorin wasn't at all happy about being parted from the hobbit, for the slight burning returned to his skin immediately, but it was not an awfully long distance to go until they could be reunited again.

"I won't kidnap him," the hobbit girl joked with a pretty smile.

Everyone seemed to like her already, except Thorin, for the dwarf king was sulking under his beard like a child. He was still shocked from the gut-wrenching fear that washed over him once he lost the hobbit from his grip, and had it not been for his company, he would've jumped after him into the river without a second thought. Dwalin and his sister-sons held him back, though, and it was only their luck that this girl was there to catch Bilbo and pull him out of the water in the last moment.

Even Thorin didn't understand the disapproval he felt for this strange girl, but he couldn't help himself. He felt way more protective than ever before, and to see them so close to each other, to see that tight embrace made the dwarf's heart sink in his chest. He hadn't said a word, though, and followed the company in silence. He could try to figure everything out later.

It took slightly more time to reach the meeting point on the dwarves' side, but, thanks to Thorin's urging mostly, they could catch up with the hobbits pretty soon. They had been conversing deeply, laughing about something when the company reached them, and Thorin couldn't restrain himself for any longer. He pushed his way through his friends, then, he cleared his throat loudly. He could feel Dwalin's eyeroll, but didn't care.

"Mister Baggins, would you be so kind to introduce your friend to us?" Thorin all but spat the words, eyeing the girl with undisguised distrust. The girl didn't seem touched, though, for she turned to Thorin with a small smile, looking up at him from behind her long eyelashes. She was really pretty, Thorin had to give her that.

"I can introduce myself," she answered, spreading her arm. "My name is Bramblerose Bramble. I am a hobbit from the Shire. Nice to meet you, Master Dwarf."

Thorin could hear the silent chattering of his company behind him, but he tried to ignore them completely. He wasn't curious of such comments as 'she could be Bilbo's sister' or 'she is witty enough for me', but he especially wasn't overjoyed to hear Kili noting, 'she is exactly like mother'. Thorin shuddered as he took the hobbit's hand and shook it firmly, slightly surprised to feel how confident her response was.

She drove him crazy already.

"Rose is an old friend of mine," Bilbo said, and Thorin didn't like the way he said 'friend'. He felt so frustrated he could've split a mountain in half with his bare fist, but he only started biting on his tounge to numb the anger inside him. "She said she knows a safe place where we could stay for the night. She has food and some clothes."

"I can't promise, though, that you will be stuffed, for I wasn't expecting a company of fourteen to be my guest tonight, but it should be enough to survive for the night," she smiled gently, running her glance over the group of tired dwarves. Everyone made appreciative noises, thanking the hobbit girl without a word, and Thorin was stunned to see everyone following the hobbits without any further comments. Only he and Dwalin were left behind, and the dwarf king gaped with his arms spread.

"Nobody is going to ask my opinion?" he turned to Dwalin with an incredulous expression, but the younger dwarf snorted and shrugged lazily.

"They are tired, Thorin. They trust Bilbo, therefore, they trust the girl. They won't refuse food and a safe place to sleep, and, to be honest, I don't really care if you are against it either," Dwalin sighed deeply, then, with a last glance at Thorin, he hurried to catch up with the others, leaving the king behind.

Thorin hadn't spoken a word on that night afterwards. He accepted food with a nod when Balin brought some to him, but the dwarf must've seen how frustrated he was, for he did not try to begin a conversation or ask him useless questions. The king preferred solitude anyway, and it was more than enough to listen to the laughter and merry-making of his company. Somewhere deep within, he envied them that they could put everything behind them so easily, but, after all, they didn't have much to put behind. Thorin felt like the whole weight of the world was on his shoulders, and he didn't know how to shake it off.

Once he finished eating, he decided to settle down next to the fire. As soon as he nestled comfortably on a huge stone, his fingers absentmindedly found their way to his wrist where the piece of cloth from earlier was still hanging. Thorin wondered for a second how he didn't lose it, but he didn't waste time on thinking about that. He still saw the stunned face of the hobbit when Thorin grabbed his arm and bound them together, making sure they wouldn't lose each other.

 _Fate decided elsehow, it seems,_ he thought to himself bitterly. He unwrapped the cloth from around his wrist and started playing with it between his fingers instead.

He didn't know how long he had been sitting motionlessly afterwards, staring into the fire. He observed the flames, taking mental notes of all the different shapes they could transform into. It was mesmerizing, and Thorin never noticed his old friend approaching him.

"Did you have enough, Thorin?"

Dwalin's voice was silent - he didn't want to frighten the king. Thorin felt content with the state of his stomach, so he looked up tiredly and nodded.

"I am good."

Loud laughter broke the moment and Thorin slowly closed his eyes. Dwalin turned his head to look back at the company, circling deeper in the cave. There was another campfire there, a smaller one, but it was enough to light up the stone walls around them. In the middle of their group sat Bilbo, with Rose next to him. She was smiling gracefully at the dwarves, especially at the sister-sons of Thorin, but the king never saw it, for he was sitting with his back to the others. Seemingly only Dwalin noticed the bad mood their leader was in.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Dwalin asked while sitting down across from the king, and Thorin snorted shortly. He never once removed his eyes from the band he made out of that cloth.

"Talk about what?"

Thorin could see the confused headshake of his friend even without looking up, and it almost made him smile. Knowing that Dwalin was just as bad in talking about feelings as him was a satisfaction.

"Whatever y'wanna talk about," Dwalin gave the most diplomatic answer Thorin had ever heard him giving, and the king couldn't stop himself from letting out the low chuckle now. Dwalin was his friend ever since he could remember, and he had known him better than anyone. Yet, it could still surprise him when Dwalin was trying to make an influence on his emotional side, even when he was well aware that it wouldn't work.

"I don't have anything to talk about," he looked up at the younger dwarf, amusement obvious on his face. Dwalin eyed him for a while but his face remained persistent.

"Ye're like a wee dwarfling, Thorin Oakenshield," Dwalin stated without a blink, and the king laughed again.

"I could throw you in the dungeons for insulting the king, you know," Thorin stared back at the fire, but his smile never faded. He was already in a better mood, and he knew it was all thanks to Dwalin.

"I'd like to see ya try," Dwalin snorted with a short laugh, then, he leaned on his knees and started observing Thorin. "You don't trust her."

It was a statement, one that no one could've denied - not even Thorin. He never tried to hide how he felt for the girl from the very first moment he laid his eyes on her, so that wasn't the thing that surprised him. Dwalin's methods, though, they did. His voice was softer than usual, and the king guessed it was the tone he used with Thorin when he tried to coax him into opening up.

 _If war is what you want, I shall give you war_ , Thorin thought to himself with a smirk invisible to the eyes. He took a deep breath and wrapped the piece of cloth around his fingers, then unwrapped them equally as slowly.

"What makes you say that?" he asked finally, his voice absolutely indifferent.

"Everythin'?" Dwalin shifted slightly and he rubbed his palms together, but the dry, cratchy sound made Thorin flinch and he stopped. "You are jealous of a hobbit lass, Thorin."

Thorin almost laughed out loud, but he could restrain himself pretty well, considering how this conversation was deepening with every second. Or, at least, for Dwalin, most certainly.

"Jealous of what, exactly?" he asked, looking up at Dwalin. His expression obviously meant 'this is the worst joke you've ever made, Dwalin', but, for some reason, it amused the younger dwarf. Another laughter echoed through the cave from the background, making Thorin growl with disapproval, and Dwalin couldn't hold back a chuckle afterwards. "Of her ability to make my company laugh?"

"For one," Dwalin shrugged. He fell silent for a few seconds, enjoying the pleasant calmness of the cave and the popping sound of the fire, then, he took a deep breath. "You should tell him."

The dwarf king's lips curled up into a small smile, like he was remembering something nice from his past, and Dwalin furrowed his brows slightly.

 _Yes, I should_ , Thorin thought, listening intensely in the half-silence to hear the hobbit's voice. He was telling a story, his voice low and knowing, and Thorin let his eyes fall shut for a second. He knew that if there was anyone on Middle-Earth who was allowed to see him weak, to see him vulnerable, it was Dwalin. He never said a word, only waited until Thorin looked at him.

The smile was still on his face.

"I can't."

The stubbornness of Thorin was something that even Dwalin couldn't possibly change, and he sighed resignedly. The younger dwarf knew it well that Thorin would do whatever he saw right, so he just stayed silent.

"I can't, because... Because there would be no use," Thorin shook his head, holding the piece of cloth more firmly in his hand now, almost squeezing it between his fingers. "How could I tell him what I feel when I know he wouldn't stay? How could I make him understand that he is more important than anything? There are no words for that, Dwalin."

The warrior held his words inside for a long while, eyeing the fire instead of speaking. Thorin knew it wasn't the last he heard from the younger dwarf, and he was right, for, after a few seconds of extended silence, Dwalin opened his mouth and looked up at him.

"That's not what you told me when that worm took our home."

Thorin had expected every possible response but this, and his eyes slightly widened with surprise. The look on Dwalin's face was unreadable, something the king had rarely seen before, and he swallowed hard. He remembered that day vividly, and not for only one reason. Not only because of the betrayal of the elves, not only because of the countless dead men in Dale and dead dwarves protecting Erebor. There was plenty heartbreak on that day, but not all had been caused by the loss of their homeland.

Hearts broke for entirely different reasons as well.

  
 _"Empty the halls! Leave the palace, now!"_

_The weight of his grandfather on his shoulders grew way too heavy to bear, and he was relieved when two other dwarves took him over. Thorin wanted to make sure everyone made it out of the underground palace alive, that the once mighty kingdom of Erebor was empty and soon losing its magnificence._

_Thorin could feel his stomach twisting and turning at the sight of injured women and children, of his friends crying and looking for their loved ones, of his home being destroyed. He still couldn't accept it, but it would have been a suicide attempt to go back. All he could do was to stand on the doorstep, seeing out everyone._

_"Thorin!"_

_The hand that grabbed his shoulder made Thorin turn around with the speed of thunder. He soon realised it was only Dwalin, and he relaxed the slightest bit._

_"Where is Balin?" Thorin asked, his head turning back to the countless dwarves still escaping the palace. He could only hope Dis and Frerin were safe already, as well as his mother and his father._

_"He is with the King," Dwalin breathed, earning a concerned look from his friend immediately. His voice was way too desperate for the Dwalin that Thorin knew, and it planted worry in the prince's stomach._

_"What is it?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. He was not quite sure he wished to hear the answer._

_"It's Vanyra," the younger dwarf answered, and Thorin turned to him with his whole body. Dwalin had never seen such fear on his friend's face before._

_"She can't be, Dwalin. She can't."_

_"The last time I saw her she was in Dale," Dwalin said, his heart beating in his throat. "My duty binds me to you, but if something happened to her, Thorin, I would not be able to-"_

_"Go immediately," Thorin cut him off, placing both of his hands on Dwalin's shoulders. The younger dwarf stared at him, eyes wide with shock and fear. "We will go to the mouth of the Forest River, and wait for you and the other survivors there. I need you to find her. This is an order."_

_Dwalin nodded, grabbing Thorin's shoulder in the same fashion and pulling the prince close to him. Their foreheads met, and they stayed like that for long moments, knowing it would be their last chance to meet for a long time. They never spoke of their friendship aloud, but they both honoured it and loved each other as brothers. It wasn't a secret for anyone, and parting was as hard for Dwalin as it was for Thorin._

_"Also, when you find her, you must tell her how you feel," Thorin added, his voice barely a murmur in the small space that separated them. Neither of them pulled away. "You have to swear to me, Dwalin."_

_Dwalin hadn't answered for a while, then, he nodded softly. Thorin knew he would never hear those words from his friend, but he was satisfied with this much as well. He pulled back after a few more moments, forcing a reassuring smile on his lips._

_"Mukhuh Mahal bakhuz murukhzu," he said, his mother language sweet on his tounge like honey, and Dwalin smiled back._

_"Mahzirikhi zu gang ghukhil."_

_Then, he turned around and left before Thorin could've said anything else._

  
The memory came back as a flash of lightning, making Thorin shiver for a second for it felt so real. He could smell the burning corpses, hear the cries of despair, and feel his friend's forehead against his. Dwalin kept his unreadable expression while Thorin was wandering far back in his mind, then, the younger dwarf opened his mouth again.

"You said I should've told her how I felt," he started, his voice low and words weighed. "I haven't, and I still regret it. Now I am asking you to do the same you have asked of me, and what I haven't been able to fulfill. You should follow me in many battles, brother, but not in this. Because in this battle, I failed miserably."

Thorin swallowed and tore his glance from Dwalin, staring into the fire instead. He felt confused and uncertain, but his fingers weren't squeezing the band so hard anymore.

By the next morning, the pleasant warmth of the night was all but gone, and the chill of the early summer dawn was sneaking into the cave. The dwarves were still snoring loudly, sleeping like a bunch of dwarflings - only Thorin couldn't get any sleep during the night, for he was thinking.

He was thinking about his mother, of what she would say of him now. Would she be proud, would she be disappointed, or a little bit of both? What would his father say? Would his grandfather be satisfied with the choices he's making? Would any of them be disappointed because he felt love for such a tender creature, for a halfling that was sleeping not fully five meters away from him? Would they judge him, or would they say the same that Dwalin said?

Thorin believed his mother would've urged him to confess, as soon as possible. She was a romantic, and that trait didn't miss Dis either. She could act like their mother so convincingly that Thorin sometimes felt terrified. He was sure if Dis had known of this problem of Thorin's, she would've tried to make him talk as well. He was not as sure about his father and grandfather, for they weren't such experts in emotions, but Thorin guessed that even if they had been skilled lovers, it wouldn't have helped Thorin.

He had not the faintest idea of what to say. He was eyeing the hobbit all night long, thinking about a hundred different scenarios on how he could've told him what he felt, but nothing came to his mind. He usually grew angry on himself and started thinking about their journey instead, the elves that were probably after them already, Erebor waiting for them, the bed of gold where Smaug slept day and night for decades now, but even these thoughts couldn't distract him for long enough. He always ended up at the small hobbit, and he knew he couldn't escape it.

Thorin had to act. And he had to act quickly.

When the first dwarves were waking, Thorin was already on his feet, pacing around the mouth of the cave. He went out to look around briefly, but, after seeing nothing but thick fog, he returned to the cave. By that time, many of the company were awake, and they greeted their leader on their sleepy voices.

"Did you sleep, laddie?" Balin asked him, walking next to Thorin. The king only had eyes for the hobbit who was sitting up and yawning on his bedroll, returning to reality way too slowly. Thorin felt his nerves stretching to the breaking point, and he didn't even realise his friend was waiting for an answer until Balin cleared his throat.

"Yes, a little," he waved him off with a lie absentmindedly, and Balin left him to his thoughts with a shake of his head. Bombur was already trying to make some breakfast from the food that was left from last night, and the mention of eating woke all of the dwarves slowly, gathering them together.

Even Bilbo got up, rubbing his eyes as he approached the company. He was shivering from the cold air, and Thorin felt his heartbeat quickening immediately. He couldn't take his eyes off the halfling anymore, and, when Bilbo turned his head to meet his eyes, he couldn't hold himself back for any longer.

He stood up and walked over to the scared looking hobbit in a hurry. Thorin grabbed his arm, trying not to be too hard on him, but Bilbo hissed anyway. He had no choice but to follow the king outside of the cave where they were far enough from the curious murmurs of the dwarves, and it was then when Thorin let go of him finally.

"What has gotten into you?" Bilbo exclaimed with palpable disbelief and he stroked his arm where the dwarf was squeezing him earlier. "Have I done something wrong again?"

"No," Thorin shook his head, but Bilbo seemingly didn't realise how frustrated the king was. Thorin was panting like he ran a thousand miles during the night, but all the hobbit could think about was his arm at the moment.

"Then is it about Rose?" he asked, without even looking up at Thorin. "I know it was a little sudden, believe me, I was surprised too. But she offered us food, and it was ni-"

"Could you please shut up for a moment?" Thorin breathed, finally earning a surprised look from Bilbo. It was the first time the halfling looked at him properly, and the sight caught him off-guard. Thorin swallowed hard as he tried to collect his thoughts, and also tried to restrain himself from doing something utterly foolish.

Something that was not appropriate as a king.

"What is wrong, Thorin?" Bilbo asked, concern obviously colouring his tone. Thorin wanted to shout but he didn't want to scare the halfling even more, so he just kept staring at him, breathing heavily.

"I need to tell you something," he blurted out, but he knew it was all he could say at the moment. There was no way he could've continued with a heart beating like this, or without dying halfway in his speech, but he also knew he couldn't back out now. If he came this far, he had to finish what he started.

"Tell me what?"

The hobbit's voice sounded absolutely different now, like he was suddenly too small compared to Thorin. There was the tiniest bit of anticipation and fear in there, and it made Thorin's insides shiver. He prayed to Mahal to give him the right words, and the right words came, only not in the way he expected them.

 _Ma zatâbhyûrizu galabur, zatâbhyûrizu mohilur_ , his father always used to say. It roughly means, translated to the common tounge: do not be wise in words - be wise in deeds. And when these words filled his mind, suddenly, he knew what to do.

He rushed forward and brought his trembling lips to the hobbit's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the cruel cliffhanger. Also, it was a shorter chapter, but I will come with the next one sooner this time, exactly in the next two days. ;)
> 
> Oh, and... I have massive Dwalin/Thorin brotp feels now.


	11. Home Is Where The Heart Is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote that Rose uses belongs to Rumi, a Persian poet who lived in the 13th century.

"So, dwarves, aye?"

Bilbo slightly jumped, snapping his head in the direction where the voice came from. He didn't really know what he was expecting, considering that there was only one girl in the whole company, and she just spoke to him. Rose's face was lit with one of her most beautiful smiles, one Bilbo could remember very well, and he smiled back fondly.

"You're already talking like them," Bilbo said, pulling the piece of cloth out of his pocket. He hid it when he realised someone joined him on the walk, but once he recognised Rose, he relaxed. She meant no harm... Not like the dwarf who dropped the said cloth.

"Are you blaming me? It's extremely catchy," Rose laughed, looking around the company. Most of the dwarves were walking in front of them, only Bifur and Bombur were behind them, closing the line. Everyone was burdened with heavy bags, for they took the food that remained from yesterday with them, and it slowed them somewhat. "They are such a merry gathering."

"Now you just sounded exactly like Gandalf," the halfling looked back at Rose. He felt the small unpleasant knot growing in his chest that only meant he was missing Gandalf again. He had so many questions for the wizard, but he wasn't there to answer them. "He would like you."

Rose looked at him and her smile seemed to fade only the tiniest bit. It didn't fade from her eyes, though.

"Perhaps," she said silently. Bilbo knew she had her thoughts somewhere else, but he didn't have to ask, for she spoke sooner. "I wonder why Thorin doesn't feel that way."

Bilbo's heart quickened at the mention of the dwarf king. His fingers immediately started shaking and, before he could've dropped it, he swiftly pushed the band back to his pocket. He could feel Rose eyeing him suspiciously, but he didn't want to say anything. He had a possible explanation for the strange behaviour of Thorin, but it still felt way too surreal to speak of.

Since morning, nothing was the same. Bilbo felt dizzy in the head, like he didn't really know where he was going and he just followed the others. His heart was heavy in his chest, like it wasn't his heart anymore but a huge piece of stone, and, at the simple thought of Thorin, it was about to explode in his ribcage. His lips were still burning from the king's kiss, and his body was aching from the lack of response. He wanted to kiss him back so badly, he wanted to move with the kiss, to finally put his mind at ease, but he wasn't able to control his body. Bilbo saw how much Thorin was struggling before he leaned down and touched his lips to the hobbit's, yet, all Bilbo could do was to stand there like a tree, his face completely blank.

He realised he was shaking as he remembered those short moments, so he just took a deep breath, hoping it would conjure away all the uneasiness.

"What is he like?" Rose asked, probably seeing that Bilbo won't offer a remark. "If he is like Fili or Kili, then it's a shame he wouldn't let me closer to him."

Bilbo almost started laughing at that, but he just stared at the ground under his feet.

"Oh no, he is nothing like Fili and Kili."

"Then what is he like?" Rose stepped closer to Bilbo, hooking her arm around Bilbo's and staring at him with a small smile. Bilbo knew it was her curiosity speaking; her curiosity that led her on most of her adventures around the Shire, her curiosity that the other hobbits couldn't understand. It was nice to have someone around him from his own kin who was so similar to him. It was a relief, actually.

But, then again, what could he possibly say about Thorin? What was he like? Even Bilbo didn't know that fully. He spent long days by the side of the dwarf king, and he was bound to him by a magic spell with the instrumentality of several Valar. But Rose already knew these things, so what else could've Bilbo told her?

He could've told her how much safety he felt when Thorin was close to him. He could've told her how he always wanted to be near the king, and not only because of the bound. He could've told her how right it felt to have the dwarf's lips on his own, to be held by those strong arms, and how it numbed him to see the pain in Thorin's eyes when he pulled back. Thorin thought Bilbo didn't want the kiss, and he stormed away before Bilbo had the chance to say anything. All he left behind was the piece of cloth that Bilbo recognised immediately and held close to him ever since.

Bilbo could've told her how much he loved Thorin.

Yet, none of these things was what he finally chose to say.

"Do you remember that vicious storm that stroke the Shire one night?" Bilbo asked with a knowing smile, earning a surprised look from Rose. "It was so rare to rain in the Shire, let alone to have storms with thunder and lightning, but you were in Bag-End on that night. We were standing at the window, watching how it tore at the trees, how everything looked like during daytime when there was a lightning."

"We were so frightened," Rose laughed, obviously remembering that night the exact same way as Bilbo. "And your father told us the sky would be the same blue the next morning, but we didn't believe him."

At the mention of his father, Bilbo's smile changed the smallest bit. He could hear the voice of Bungo Baggins in his ear, he could see the calm, level-headed hobbit sitting in his arm-chair, barely looking up from his book behind his glasses. He was a really smart man, and Bilbo missed him. He died too soon, before Bilbo could've learnt to truly appreciate him.

"He was right in the end," the hobbit sighed, staring aimlessly at the road in front of him. Rose was silent next to him, her hold on his hand slightly tightening, and Bilbo looked up at her with the same smile. "Thorin is like that storm. He tears at you, he raves, he even thunders, and then... The next morning, he is calm, the blue of his eyes clear again, just like the sky."

There was a wave of recognition on Rose's face, like she finally understood something. Bilbo knew exactly what it was, and he couldn't help himself from blushing. He was wondering whether it was so obvious to everyone but Thorin, or Rose realised only because she knew him better than anyone on Arda? He didn't know. He truly didn't.

"It explains a lot of things," Rose noted, a different smile returning to her face as she studied Bilbo carefully. "My mother had a saying that her mother used to tell her when she was reluctant to marry my father."

Bilbo's eyes widened. "Your mother didn't want to marry your father?"

Rose laughed shortly but heartily, and Bilbo couldn't help to feel a slight wave of jealousy in his chest. He could never think about his own parents so easily, or, at least, without having a lump in his throat, and he hadn't even lost them the way Rose had. She was the strongest person Bilbo had ever known, and he truly admired her.

"My mother needed a bit more courting than other hobbits, or, that is what I was told," Rose winked and Bilbo let out a soft laugh. He remembered Rose's parents vividly, and he held them as dear as he had always held Rose. He wasn't surprised to hear that about her mother. "But do not sidetrack, Bilbo, for that was not a story I wished to tell you just yet.

"The saying my mother repeated time to time was, 'Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it'," Rose said, and Bilbo needed a few seconds to understand it completely. "It means that if you decided not to love someone, you have to fight your reluctance first, then, and only then, can you love the other fully. I don't think it needs further explanation."

Bilbo fell silent at that, finally seeing the sense in what Rose was trying to say. He slowly raised his eyes to look at Thorin, who was leading the company in the front and never once looked back. He looked like he did on any other day, except that Dwalin was by his side more often, talking to him about something that Thorin didn't find interesting enough to answer to. Bilbo felt a sting of pain itching inside him, somewhere he could not reach, and he swallowed hard.

Rose was soon pulled from his side by Fili, the prince speaking of Dale and how much Rose would've liked the whirl of men in the town of Girion. Bilbo let her go with a smile, obviously realising how excited Fili was to have Rose around him. Maybe a little bit too excited, considering how much he begged his uncle to bring Rose with them.

 _It is a wonder he let her come with us,_ Bilbo thought to himself, his eyes still lingering on the dwarf king. He sighed bitterly. _But, then again, there is no bigger wonder that you are still sane, Bilbo Baggins._

***

"So, where is the door?"

The question all but seemed to echo through the huge wasteland around them, being thrown back by the high, misty stones of the Lonely Mountain. In the base of the mountain they had been standing, staring up at the once mighty dwelling place of the dwarves and, had it not been for Rose's sudden question, they would've stayed in silence for minutes, even.

Behind them, charred and blackened by the burning breath of Smaug, the land compassed the Lonely Mountain, the home of Erebor, the kingdom they came to reclaim. It was a miserable sight to look at and filled their hearts with sorrow, so they decided not to look at it, hoping they could find the secret door that was marked on the map clearly.

Needless to say, they saw nothing at all.

"As ya see, not here," Dwalin answered wryly, his tone annoyed. Bilbo knew it very well, for he had heard it being addressed to him way too many times.

"You don't need to be rude with her," Fili exclaimed protectively, and most of the company rolled their eyes. Neither of the Durin heirs were especially skilled in hiding their true emotions, and Bilbo only wished it would've been true for their uncle as well. He wouldn't have felt so confused then.

"We're on the doorstep of our home, but we can't find the damn door," Dwalin snapped, frowning at the older sister-son of Thorin, and Bilbo sighed resignedly. It was so typical that it almost drew out a laugh from him. Once the dwarves grew anxious enough, they could've killed each other and then regretted every word in the next second. "I think I can be rude with whomever I want."

"Brother," Balin murmured under his breath, but his warning got lost in the angry passages that grew louder and louder gradually.

"No, you can't be rude with her, she did nothing wrong!" said Fili.

"I think I have to stand by Fili in this," said Kili.

"You can't even name one situation where ya didn't stand by him, lad," said Gloin, joining the conversation.

"You obviously can't respect this place, you have never lived here after all, so you should shut up!" said Dwalin, but his words were closely followed by Thorin's angry cry.

"Enough!" he yelled, maybe slightly louder than what would've been wise. He didn't look at his friends, nor at his sister-sons, he just stared at the ground in front of him, breathing heavily. Bilbo swallowed hard and stayed silent, eyeing everyone carefully. No one dared speak, for they already knew how serious this situation was. "If we already fly at each other's throats, how can we expect to defeat the worm? This is a dragon, I hope you did not forget about that."

Silence lingered amongst the dwarves for a few more seconds, but it was once again broken by Rose and Dwalin flinched automatically.

"I am not an expert," she started, intensely eyeing Thorin until the dwarf king looked at her, "but I've read enough books to know that simply staring hard enough won't bring you closer to a hidden door. That's why it's hidden after all."

"Say something we don't know," Dwalin mumbled under his breath, but, before Fili could've snapped again, Thorin frowned at him pointedly.

"What are you trying to say?"

There was the same adventurous glimmer in Rose's eyes that Bilbo was so familiar with, and he already knew it was the wisest decision to take her with them. She had already been well-read when they first met, knowing most of the true and fictional stories that Bilbo hadn't even heard of by heart. It wasn't surprising she wanted to be an adventuress since the moment she remembered.

"Many stories speak of entrances and gates that only appeared in moonlight or when the sun was shining from a certain angle. Sometimes there were hidden handles that opened the doors, and sometimes it was in plain sight and that is why it was so hard to find."

The dwarves seemed to digest it for a short amount of time, confusion creasing their brows and the lines on their foreheads. Only Bilbo seemed to understand immediately, and he sighed deeply.

"She says that we shouldn't run our heads against the wall without thinking, but we should wait until the fog disappears and we can observe everything by the light of either the sun or the moon," he explained, and the company seemed to understand it better at once. The roll of Rose's eyes was priceless, but Bilbo tried not to laugh. "We should make camp somewhere in a somewhat sheltered part of the mountain, and we can think more clearly tomorrow."

Most of the dwarves agreed with this idea, setting out to look for a place to camp, and Bilbo felt satisfaction spreading through him. He was exhausted from the long journey through the desolation which used to be a prosperous green land once, and he guessed it was around dinner time anyway. Staring at the mountain wouldn't do any good now.

He praised every power that seemed to serve their journey for letting them meet Rose. She was a certain point for the hobbit, especially now that Thorin wasn't talking to him at all. The dwarf king was already with the others, trying to help Bombur prepare some food that didn't need fire. (They didn't risk making one, and Bilbo missed the warmth it would've brought to their tired limbs during the evening.) Thorin completely ignored him, offering food for everyone but the halfling, and it placed a painful knot in the hobbit's heart.

 _That is how he loves?_ he wondered to himself, picking on some bread they brought from the cave of Rose. The girl pushed it into his hands, winking at him before joining Fili and Kili in their conversation. _He loves and then he loathes? It doesn't seem to make him happy, then why is he doing it?_

He entertained such thoughts in his mind as the minutes passed and lazily grew into hours. Most members of the company were already fast asleep, lost on their bedrolls and swallowed by the darkness - Bilbo, however, couldn't seem to get any sleep on that night, for he was too nervous about what the next day might bring and about the dwarf king sleeping soundly not too far from him. Dwalin was on watch for the first half of the night, and Bilbo was glad the dwarf didn't ask any questions on why the hobbit was still awake. They sat in comfortable silence, listening to the howling winds of the mountain, and shared an unspoken bond in the darkness.

Some kind of strange understanding.

"D'ya fancy a talk?"

The dwarf's rough voice broke the silence so suddenly that Bilbo almost jumped out of his skin, but he tried to keep calm and not wake the others. He was too started to speak, though, so he just gave the other an uncertain nod and tried to collect himself. He had not the faintest idea on what Dwalin could've told him, but he was curious enough to let him.

"I meant no harm for your friend," Dwalin muttered, his tone suddenly more silent and soft than previously. Bilbo's brows rose, and he blinked at the dwarf with surprise. He could make out the shapes and silhouettes of Thorin's most trusted friend, but he couldn't quite catch his expression in the shadows. "She is a fine lass. Fili fancies her, but I guess you could work out as much too."

Bilbo snorted slightly, turning his head where he assumed Fili was lying. He was close to another heap, who must've been Kili, and the hobbit smiled. Oh yes, it was hard not to notice how fond of Rose the young prince was. It was written all over his face most of the time.

"She seems to like him as well," Bilbo sighed, staring into darkness, aimlessly. At least, he tried to convince himself that he wasn't looking at Thorin. "They could complete each other easily, Rose is a nice girl. She is my best friend, actually."

"Is she?" Dwalin asked after a short moment of pause. Bilbo was surprised to hear amusement hiding in his voice, the sort of emotion that wasn't quite _Dwalin_.

The hobbit turned his head to look at him and he was absolutely stunned to see the dwarf's wide grin in the darkness. It was knowing and incredulous, relieved and cunning all the same time, and Bilbo felt his stomach drop. It was odd. Way too odd.

"What is so amusing?" Bilbo furrowed his brows, shifting on his bedroll uncomfortably. He had the gut feeling that Dwalin knew something that the hobbit didn't, and it never was comforting. Especially not with this particular dwarf.

"You care for the girl, aye?" Dwalin asked, and Bilbo could feel the warrior staring at him. The hobbit pulled back his head slightly, as if he was trying to avoid being the target of that pointed look, but he opened his mouth tentatively.

"Uhm, I think so, yes. Of course," he stammered, his heartbeat slightly quickening.

"You would protect her, aye?" the warrior continued, his voice filled with the sound of that grin all the same. Bilbo swallowed hard, not at all understanding the point of this conversation.

"Yes, I would!"

"Even if you knew she was making a mistake, you would try to make it up for her, aye?"

"Are we still talking about Rose, or is it some kind of a joke?" Bilbo snapped, immediately lowering his voice once he realised he was dangerously close to shouting and waking up the dwarves. Some of them shifted in their sleep, moving to their other side, and Bilbo bowed his head, trying to calm his hammering heartbeat.

Dwalin stayed silent for a good while, and Bilbo sank deep in his thoughts - probably that is why he was so started again to hear the dwarf's voice, only this time, it came from a closer place.

From right beside him.

"Ye see that dwarf there, burglar?" Dwalin sat down next to him unceremoniously, pointing his thick finger at a heap not too far from them. Bilbo stopped breathing once he recognised Thorin and, all of a sudden, he started to understand this game. A game he did not want to take part in, not one bit. "He is my king, and I swore loyalty to him. My oath didn't include taking care of his self-affairs, though, so I must say it is not my duty as a soldier but as his friend. You would do anything for your friend, and I would do the same for mine."

Bilbo turned his head to look at Dwalin with surprise, not quite believing what he had heard was not only a hallucination. He had never heard Dwalin speaking like this before, or, speaking this much at once at all, and every word that left the dwarf's mouth was directed right at the hobbit's heart.

"I know he kissed ya, halfling," Dwalin looked back at him, and, suddenly, Bilbo found the possibility of fainting pretty attractive. He could feel his whole body burning from embarassment, especially his face, and he had to look away if he had not wanted to choke on his own saliva in front of Dwalin. "I encouraged him, so if it caused a hard time for ya, I should apologise."

The hobbit awkwardly moved his arms to hug himself and decided to never look Dwalin in the eye again. It was too much to bear for a small creature like him, especially on such a late hour. He thanked his good fortune that no one else was there to hear this conversation between them.

Leastwise, he truly hoped that no one was awake but the two of them.

"Won't ya say something?" Dwalin asked, and Bilbo felt naked under his gaze. The dwarf was so soft all of a sudden, like he wanted to comfort the hobbit, but Bilbo almost laughed out loud at the thought. There was nothing on Arda that could've comforted him at the moment, he knew that for sure.

"What do you want me to say?" Bilbo muttered, never removing his eyes from the corner of Bofur's bedroll.

"That ye are willing to listen."

Bilbo let out a snort at that, sniffling sightly. He didn't like this cold weather, which wouldn't have been as cold if only they had been on the other side of the mountain. It was the windy side, and the breeze sneaked under the hobbit's vest, underneath his shirt and tickled his skin, not at all in a pleasant way.

"I am listening," he collected enough willpower to raise his head, not quite looking at Dwalin but catching his beard with his eyes. He could see the smirk behind the abundance of hair, and a shiver ran over the hobbit's spine quickly.

"Thorin is as stubborn as any other dwarf," Dwalin started, and Bilbo desperately tried not to recall the memory of that kiss they shared. Well, they didn't quite share it, for Bilbo couldn't respond at all, but it was a kiss nevertheless. And he could still feel it on his lips, doesn't matter whether he reciprocated it or not. "He does only what he believes to be right. He is pretty bad with words as well, so I guess that's why he kissed ya so swiftly."

Bilbo shuddered but said nothing. He was curious what else the dwarf had to say.

"He didn't want to scare ya, and he most certainly doesn't hate ya," the warrior continued, his voice silky on a way Bilbo had never heard him talking before. "It's only his damn pride why he keeps ignoring ya, but he won't always be like this."

 _Well, I'm looking forward to see that_ , Bilbo thought to himself with nearly not enough hope and he sighed deeply. His eyes wandered around the dwarves until it rested on the motionless form of Thorin, taking him in the best he could. He would've given anything to have the dwarf as close to him as he had Dwalin, to only be acknowledged by the king. He didn't need words, he didn't need a single touch, only the presence of the dwarf.

Then again, he guessed it must've been too much to ask for.

***

On the next morning, Bilbo woke to a hand softly shaking his shoulder.

He hadn't even known where he was when he first opened his eyes. Everything was way too bright and chilly, and he realised his whole body was numb under the covers. Numb and frozen, more precisely. And he did not like it at all.

When he slowly put two and two together and remembered they were already at the Lonely Mountain, the next step of him regaining his full consciousness was to identify Kili hovering over him. The end of his brown locks were touching Bilbo's face and his neck, and he made a face so the prince would lean back a little.

"What time is it?" Bilbo asked, his voice hoarse. He didn't sleep well, and he didn't sleep a lot either. The memories from last night were vivid in his mind, burning themselves into his skull like a wicked disease, and Bilbo could feel the headache behind his eyes. He needed water, quickly.

"It's still early, only Bombur, Fili and Rose are up," Kili answered softly, sitting down next to Bilbo with a huff of breath.

The hobbit thought the young dwarf was reading his mind when he suddenly pushed a flask into his hand with a reassuring smile, and Bilbo took it without hesitation. The cool water on his tounge and flowing down his throat felt like drinking from the streams of the Shire directly, and he played with the thought of his home for a moment. It was the only thing to give him proper comfort sometimes, in the times of dire need and homesickness.

"Thank you," Bilbo breathed as he gave back the flask, and Kili nodded. "Is there any plan for today?"

"Hasn't uncle told you?" Kili raised his brows in surprise. The question made Bilbo's stomach sink immediately, wishing he would've never been woken on this wretched day. It didn't hurt when he slept, at least.

"No, he... He must've forgotten," Bilbo muttered dryly, trying not to sound too bitter. Kili didn't seem to notice, luckily. "Then I assume there is a plan."

"Balin said there was a staircase leading to the upper side of the mountain, a piton where archers used to practice a long time ago," Kili explained, enthusiasm evident in his voice. Bilbo smiled to himself, finding the cheerful nature of the prince charming. "He said we could have a look at that place today."

"I see," the hobbit sighed, staring down at his hands resting in his lap for a second. Then, his eyes caught the glimmering of something from his right, and, as he turned his head to look at the young dwarf, he noticed a small silver pin in his hand.

 _The pin Legolas gave to him,_ Bilbo noted soundlessly, eyeing the trinket for a moment before looking up at Kili. The longing half-smile on his face was filling Bilbo with warmth he assumed only fathers could feel, and he heard himself chuckling softly.

"Do the others know?" Bilbo asked silently, earning a gentle look from the dwarf prince. He was looking at the hobbit from behind his long eyelashes, his face slightly coloured in pink. He shook his head.

"No. Only Fili and you," he looked back at the pin, running his thumb over the two entwined arrows shining in the dim light. The fog was still thick around the mountain, but the sun was shining somewhere behind the clouds and it painted everything in light blue and grey. "Does this make me a bad person, Master Baggins?"

His voice was so small that Bilbo's heart started to ache for him. His throat felt too tight to speak, so he only placed a hand on Kili's shoulder while he was collecting himself.

"To love someone never makes you a bad person, Kili," Bilbo answered gently, looking right in the wide, hazel eyes of the youngster. "The lack of love, that can turn you into one."

 _Oh for the name of mercy, I sounded just like Gandalf,_ Bilbo noted to himself, frowning on the inside from the recognition. He soon shook it off, though, returning to the side of Kili in soul as well as in body.

"But he is an elf," Kili whispered, hiding the pin in his palm, and he looked up at Bilbo with a helpless expression. "Uncle would never-"

"Your uncle owes his and your lives to that elf," Bilbo interrupted, pulling back his arm when he found Kili was steady enough. "Without Legolas, he and his whole company would still sit in the dungeons, waiting for their doom. Thorin will surely understand your feelings towards the elf prince, and, after seeing how deeply you feel for him, he will give his blessings."

The hope rekindled in Kili's eyes, and a smile as wide as the mountain itself spread on his lips, making Bilbo smile as well. There were no words needed, no more reassurances, for everything the hobbit said gave enough comfort for the young dwarf to hold on for a little bit longer. This particular trait of his was coming from the Baggins line as well - knowing when to say kind words, and, more importantly, how. If Bilbo was good at something, it was talking, and he was proud of that.

The dwarves slowly started to wake afterwards, their rumbling stomachs disturbing their dreams. Bilbo assumed they had been dreaming of more food and gold, their kingdom being reclaimed and restored, their halls gleaming in their long forgotten splendour again. On the other side, all Bilbo could dream of was a giant dragon facing him, with Thorin pushing him to its open mouth and whispering 'go burglar, and make yourself useful'. There was a contrast between these dreams that was quite hard to swallow, so Bilbo didn't even try. He ate his squash silently, eyeballing the heavy layer of fog, praying for a ray of sunlight.

It was useless, of course, for even when they climbed the steep staircase with Thorin, Balin, Dwalin, Kili, Fili and Bofur, the fog seemed not to be keen on going anywhere. If anything, it only got thicker by noon, and Bilbo couldn't even see his own hands at one point when he stretched them out too far.

"There is no handle, no stone that seems to open anythin', and no doors anywhere," Dwalin said bitterly after touching the stone wall for minutes, looking for something useful. Bilbo focused on not falling down the slippery rocks, and, even with Bofur by his side, he felt quite unsure. Thorin didn't help his situation, of course, and kept ignoring him as he had done for two days now. And it grew harder and harder to bear.

The way to the top of the staircase meant no problem, besides that it forced their lungs to work harder than ever. (Bofur noted that Bombur would've been in trouble if he had to climb those stairs, and Bilbo almost laughed at that. Bofur had always known how to make the halfling smile, and Bilbo was grateful for that.) The way back, though... Now, that was something Bilbo wished he would've never had to experience.

Thorin led the line of the dwarves on the front, and, somehow, Bilbo ended up behind him. It was a narrow staircase where only one person could walk relatively 'comfortably', if constantly fearing death with every step could've been called comfortable. Bilbo tried to avoid looking at the dwarf king: he didn't need to see the long locks or the broad shoulders with that huge back. He was miserable as he was already, he didn't need anything else to yearn for. However, avoiding to look at someone who went so closely in front of him and watching his steps didn't seem to work well together, and he slipped before he could've yelled 'help'.

He could feel the brush of Bofur's hand on his back, trying to grab his collar and keep him back but he missed the catch and Bilbo fell ahead like a sack. He was sure his heart stopped functioning for a moment, and he was waiting for the blackness to take him and to never wake up again when he suddenly found himself in two strong arms. He was surrounded by this strange embrace, and his lungs were filled with the familiar scent of Thorin. Bilbo looked up, wonder obvious on his face, and it soon had been replaced with some fear and absolute awe.

Thorin was holding him, and he was staring down at the hobbit so intensely that Bilbo wasn't even surprised anymore that his heart stopped beating.

"I remember telling you to watch your steps," Thorin growled, but the disdain on his face was the absolute opposite of the feelings that filled his eyes. Bilbo couldn't find the right words to answer, for he was so utterly mesmerized by that loving gaze that he lost the ability to speak his mind. He stared at the dwarf king for a very long time, trying to collect himself, but Thorin pushed him back to his feet before he could've said anything.

To part from him hurt more than any harsh words.

The next couple of days went on like this. They kept looking for the door, though, their spirits were lower and lower with every failure. They ventured around the mountain, looking for hidden places that only dwarves would know, therefore, they could've put a door there. Needless to say, in the stubborn fog that seemed to stay forever they found nothing. They were running out of food, strength and persistence, and Bilbo was desperately wishing Gandalf would've been with them.

He could make this wretched fog go, the hobbit heard the dwarves murmur under their breaths on the sleepless nights. They never made fire, for it was still a dangerous place, so warmth had been avoiding them for a longer time that they could remember.

Bilbo stopped complaining after the fourth day. He fell terribly silent, and it went to such lengths that only Rose could talk to him. Not like anyone was looking for his company besides the young Durin heirs or the hobbit girl, so no one seemed to notice it. But those who did were extremely worried and kept asking him what was wrong. He only answered the truth: he couldn't sleep for he was way too frozen, and he missed warm food.

The only thing he didn't include in his explanation was the absolute misery that Thorin caused him, but he didn't wish to share that with anyone. It was enough to catch the pitying look of Dwalin sometimes.

His exasperation aggravated to a level where he simply refused to go with the dwarves to look for the hidden door. It was on the sixth day, and he chose to stay with Bombur and Bifur instead of joining the sad, complaining group. He preferred the company of the cousins over the others', so he nestled in the base of a huge rock and wrapped his arms around himself protectively.

The noises of the dwarves soon became distant enough for Bilbo to assume they were already a good distance away, and he slowly closed his eyes. Whenever he tried to sleep the damn freezing of his bones and the chilly winds on his skin kept him awake, whispering in his ear about pulling the magic ring on his finger so he wouldn't feel so bad anymore. He didn't understand the connection, so he ignored the voice completely, trying to curl up in a smaller hump against the stone wall.

He must've been lying there for not longer than fifteen minutes when a strange feeling started to overwhelm him. He was used to the burning already, for being far from Thorin wasn't unusual lately and it was only a little bit worse than the hunger or the exhaustion. No, it wasn't the burning feeling that gave him goosebumps all over his body.

It was the pleasant warmth on his face.

For a moment he was sure that it wasn't more than a hallucination. He thought of the Shire where the warmth of the sun was something the hobbits couldn't live without, where the power of that warmth made their food grow and lightened the hair of every young hobbit lass around Hobbiton. Bilbo smiled to himself with bitter nostalgia, almost smelling the grass and flowers of the woods in his nose, but his small fantasy was broken by the joyous voice of Bombur.

"Look at that, Mister Hobbit," he said, and Bilbo opened his eyes to look at him. Instead, he saw something absolutely different, and he gaped slightly. "The weather had mercy on us at last!"

The fog disappeared, and the wastelands, the blackened desolation of Smaug was surrounding them once again. It would've made Bilbo sick on any other day, but not today. For the moment he looked into the sun, he jumped up and stared at the dwarves with rejoicing.

"Do you know what it means?" Bilbo asked, his eyes shining with the returning hope. Maybe they weren't lost at all. "We can find the door now! But we need the key immediately! Bifur, run after the others, would you?"

Bifur never protested, he just ran where the others went earlier, leaving Bilbo and Bombur behind. The hobbit was staring at the mountain now, looking for something the sun could emphasize, but his eyes didn't seem to catch anything unusual.

"Do you see anything, Bombur?" Bilbo asked, narrowing his eyes so he could see better.

"Nothing, Mister Baggins. Maybe you could see better from that staircase that Balin mentioned a week ago, remember? The archer's practice spot," Bombur noted with a shrug and Bilbo nodded with absolute enthusiasm.

"That is a very good idea, Bombur," he said, earning a wide but humble smile from the dwarf, and Bilbo headed to the staircase immediately.

It wasn't too far from the camp they made, and making his way there wasn't difficult at all. He remembered climbing it, though, and his whole body started protesting at once. The hobbit didn't back away, nevertheless, and he started climbing the narrow way up to the top. The stairs had still been slippery and uncertain, but Bilbo felt too zealous to stop now or to give up.

After a few minutes of climbing he reached the top, and, though he was panting heavily, he had the same smile on his face. He felt a bit dizzy to his head from the sudden physical exercise, but his eyes were already looking for a sign of the sunlight frantically. He saw nothing, but before he could've lost all his spirit, a thought popped in his mind.

 _What if it's visible for a short amount of time only?_ he thought to himself, eyeing the sun doubtfully. It was setting slowly, planting ideas in the mind of the hobbit. _Maybe when it's about to set completely... When it barely shines on the horizon... Maybe it shows us the way then._

His train of thoughts were cut off by a loud yell and he turned around startedly, almost losing his balance on the edge of the stones. His heart started beating even more faster when he realised that the dwarf who had been yelling for him was Thorin.

"What were you thinking to go up there on your own?" the dwarf asked, his voice thick with anger. Bilbo knew he was too close to the solution to start yelling now, so he just waved the king off, turning back to face the sun. Everything was growing blurry around them, but he eyed the huge burning circle on the sky until it's lower part started disappearing behind the distant trees of Mirkwood.

Thorin kept yelling for a while but he soon fell silent after that. Bilbo didn't care, for he knew he didn't have much time to catch the last glimpse of the sun. It was smaller and smaller on the sky, shining in a darker colour with every moment, and finally, when the last ray of light shone through the top of the trees, Bilbo saw it.

There was a hole in the wall, a hole where the key should've fit perfectly. He smiled to himself slowly, satisfaction, relief and pride washing over him in waves, and he turned to signal the dwarves.

He didn't expect he would slip on the wet rocks and start falling into the now shady depths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we are. Another cruel cliffhanger.
> 
> I am so sorry.
> 
> By the way, you will have to wait for the next chapter for a little bit longer this time, because I am only one chapter ahead and I prefer having at least 3 chapters written when I upload another. I was a bit slow lately and my Muse seemed to struggle, but I hope I can come with the next update very soon. ;)
> 
> Also, this chapter was entirely from Bilbo's POV, but I thought it was important to show how confused he is and how this stress has an effect on his health. This part of the story is a bit different from canon, but I hope you liked it nonetheless! :3
> 
> Thank you for the kudos and the lovely comments, it's a pleasure to write this for you guys! :3


	12. Lover Of The Light

Seeing Bilbo fall paralyzed Thorin.

Seeing the memory of his grandfather was even worse.

The lifeless body of Thrór still haunted Thorin every single night, falling without any effort into the dirt and the blood of his own kin. Beheaded, bereaved from his dignity, not even given a chance to look back and search for his son, for his grandson. He fell, and his head rolled, stopping right in front of Thorin, not yet Oakenshield. Tears of anger, sorrow and grief choked the prince, his throat too tight for words but burning for a scream. And he let it out, let his soul crack, let his mind darken.

Azog took Thrór's head on that day, and Thorin took his arm in return. The desire for vengeance, however, did not remit, and the dwarf thought it never would.

To see the hobbit losing his balance and giving himself over to fate in the same fashion, eyes closed and arms stretched out like he was about to fly away, turned Thorin's stomach. He wished the hobbit could fly, that he could soar on the sky like a bird and never fall, but it was impossible. Bilbo never ceased to amaze and surprise the dwarf king, but this time Thorin knew that he asked for too much.

He never quite noticed the fast blur gliding beside him. It moved so quickly, with such swiftness that Thorin only saw how it arrived to the edge of the piton just in time to catch the hobbit's vest. Everything happened in slow motion for the dwarf king, and he could hear nothing save his heartbeat. At first, he didn't feel panic, he just stood and stared. He felt fear in the pit of his stomach, spreading around his body gradually. The panic came once he realised the figure that saved his hobbit was Dwalin, and he was yelling for Thorin to come and aid him.

Thorin moved slowly, his legs trembling underneath him like he was running since they left the Shire. Then, as he saw Bilbo's chest rising and he could dismiss the horrible thought of the hobbit being dead, his steps sped up and he was soon kneeling by his friend and the halfling, his hands all over Bilbo's face.

"He is burnin' up," Dwalin murmured, and Thorin could feel his worried look on his face. "I don't know how long he's been sick, I guess we didn't pay enough attention to the small thing."

 _I didn't_ , Thorin thought, more bitterness colouring his inner voice than anytime before in his whole life and he took a deep breath. He desperately wished the wizard could be here to help them, to help Bilbo, but Thorin knew wishing did no good. If everything he had ever wished for would've come true, he wouldn't be on this quest right now in the first place.

And Bilbo would be fine. They would've never brought him out of his cosy home, and he would've never met Thorin.

The dwarf shivered at the thought, thinking about the life where he wouldn't know Bilbo, and he decided that life would be unbearable then. It was nearly unbearable as it was, but Bilbo brought some light into it, keeping the dwarf king sane. Thorin knew that without it, he wouldn't have made it this far.

"Bilbo!"

The desperate cry of Rose broke Thorin's train of thoughts, bringing him back to reality and he quickly shifted in his position to give space for the hobbit girl. Rose was breathing heavily, obviously overwhelmed with worry and blank despair, and Thorin knew she needed to make sure Bilbo was alright. Not completely, but alive.

"Water! We need water!" Dwalin yelled down from the piton, ordering someone to bring up some water from their packs and Bofur soon arrived with it. Dwalin took it from his hands, gently raising Bilbo's head by his nape and oozing some water down the hobbit's throat. The halfling slightly trembled, swallowing the water with gratitude but he still wasn't quite awake.

"We need to take him down," Rose stood up abruptly, tears welling in her eyes and in her voice alike, but the hand that appeared on her shoulder soothed her only a little. It was Fili beside her, stroking her arm until he could entwine their fingers and Rose gave him a watery smile. Thorin watched the youngsters carefully while Dwalin kept helping Bilbo to drink, and he swallowed back a smile.

 _First was Kili with Legolas, now it's Fili with a hobbit,_ Thorin thought with wonder, turning his head back to look at his burglar. _The Durin line is helpless, indeed._

"Carry him, Thorin," Dwalin pushed the flask closed, standing up to gather the others to the stairs, giving his friend a moment with Bilbo alone.

Thorin took in the sight of the hobbit truly for the first time in days. He was terrifyingly thin, he had dark circles under his eyes and his vest he got from Beorn was torn and dirty. Dwarves were used to such circumstances ever since they left Erebor, but this hobbit was way too innocent and pure to endure this.

The king's stomach dropped again, and he ran his fingers through the messy locks of Bilbo, brushing them away from his forehead. The skin felt way too hot against his palm and, without making sure whether the others were already gone or not, he leaned down to press a kiss between Bilbo's brows. Thorin closed his eyes, lingering there like this for a moment, trying to recall the image of the hobbit when they first met. The halfling was so oblivious then, so awkward that Thorin could find nothing likeable in him. It all changed when he proved his true worth, just like Gandalf had already told them. Bilbo saved his life more than once, and Thorin still felt like he was in his debt.

Even now, he couldn't do anything to return the favour. He was helpless against this sickness, and all he could offer was this kiss, a kiss that couldn't have been rejected.

He pulled back after a few moments, sliding his arms under the hobbit's body. He was so light and so small that the weight reminded Thorin of the times when he had to carry his sister-sons around in his arms. He held Bilbo close to his chest, carefully taking the steps, focusing on every single movement. The winds were only blowing delicately now and they brought warmth with them, even after sunset - Thorin was glad they didn't try to push him off his feet.

The company was already waiting for him, Óin preparing to have a look at Bilbo immediately. He already lost most of his healing ingredients and accessories while they were the prisoners of the Goblin King, but he still had his knowledge, and it was more than nothing.

Thorin gently lay Bilbo down on the king's own furs and cloak, careful to place his head with special care. He had enough bruises and scars as it was, he certainly didn't need more. He wasn't a war hero, he wasn't a warrior. He was only a hobbit, and hobbits didn't require scars at all.

"Give Óin some space, laddie," Thorin could hear the murmur of Balin from his side. His old friend pulled him away tenderly, and Óin knelt beside the hobbit to have a look at him.

Silence was thick around the camp, only Óin's half-audible curses broke the quietness sometimes when he complained about the lack of light. The sky was pinkish-blue, burning in more vivid colours around the lost sun on the horizon, and the light was indeed not enough to properly see everything. Óin had to be quick, but Thorin trusted him. He trusted every single person in his company, and he knew that if it was upon them to heal Bilbo, they would do whatever they could.

"The sickness has a simple explanation," Óin stood up at last, drawing everyone's attention to him. He turned to face Thorin, his lips pressed into a tight line as he looked up at his king. "The lad hasn't been sleeping well for a while now, and the cold nights must've tired him entirely. To sleep while being so close to danger is not easy, and our burglar must've found it even harder. He needs to rest, and he also needs water. Maybe some warm food-"

"We can't make a fire here," Glóin shook his head, his voice bitter and low. The dwarves knew he was telling the truth, but Thorin knew it was their only way.

"If he needs warmth to recover, then he will have it," the King under the Mountain muttered, earning shocked looks from his companions. "We stand no chance without the hobbit, and he can't go in there while being shaken by fever."

"Thorin-" Dwalin tried to resist but was abruptly cut off by Thorin, earning a pointed look from his friend.

"I made my decision," the king said, turning to Fili and Kili after a while of silently eyeballing each other with Dwalin. "Go to the borders of the desolation and bring some wood as quickly as you can. Dwalin and Bofur will go with you."

"Yes, uncle," the brothers answered in sync and smiled at each other quickly before making their way to climb out of the shelter of cliffs around them.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Dwalin asked him one more time, worry buried deep in his voice. It didn't miss Thorin's attention, though, and the king blinked back at him, shaking his head slightly.

"No," he sighed, his tone low and uncertain. He looked down at the hobbit, the small creature shaking with his ever growing fever and, to try and ease the heaviness of his heart, Thorin turned to Dwalin with a helpless expression. "But what else could we do?"

"You know the risks, Thorin," Dwalin leaned even closer, barely murmuring into the small space that was left between the two of them. Thorin knew that he would've been wise to take the dwarf's advice, for he had knowledge that always turned out to be useful, but the king couldn't be convinced now. The hobbit needed aid, and he feared for him not only because the fate of their journey but because of how he felt for him. How deeply he cared for him, how much he would've sacrificed for him, how he would've given his own life for him without a second thought. It was overwhelming him sometimes, but the fact that Dwalin knew him better than anyone was a great comfort for the king. Yet, he still couldn't listen to the younger dwarf in conjunction. "Once you light that fire, we are all doomed."

"What else could we do?" Thorin repeated the question, much more firmly now, and it put Dwalin into silence. The king could see his own reflection in his friend's worried eyes, but he held his ground, for he hadn't any other choice. "I can't let him die, Dwalin. You know that."

Dwalin let out a long breath, growling silently as he tore his glance from Thorin, then, he nodded. Thorin took it as the sign of surrender, and he grabbed Dwalin's shoulder to turn the other back so he can touch his forehead to the younger one's. Thorin felt the firm grip on his arm as Dwalin held him, pushing closer to him, and the king closed his eyes for a short moment. It was a comfort that not many could give him, and he was thankful for the presence of Dwalin.

"Take care of the lads and get back soon," Thorin said after his friend pulled away, looking him in the eye.

"Aye," Dwalin muttered from behind a small smirk, then, he walked past Thorin with long steps to join Bofur and the youngsters.

The desolation of the dragon wasn't quite that huge, but Thorin knew still that making the way in the dark, collecting the wood needed and coming back would take at least a good two hours. He knew they had to keep Bilbo warm for the time being and give him water constantly, to avoid him drying out. He took off his vest and wrapped him in as many layers as he could. The others offered their cloaks as well, but if everyone's clothes were to be lay on him, the hobbit would've got lost under the mountain of warmth, and Thorin didn't want that.

He always stayed close to the hobbit, never straying or sitting farther then a few steps so he could reach out anytime. Rose took the halfling's head in her lap, splaying her water soaked handkerchief on Bilbo's forehead to try to keep his fever down. Thorin eyed her carefully, and he couldn't ignore the coldness that radiated from her whenever she looked at him. The dwarf king grew to like her over the days, but the girl became more and more distant, focusing her attention on everyone but Thorin. He found it odd, but now that they seemed to be alone for a moment, he took the chance to ask questions.

"You seem to be fond of my sister-son," Thorin said, his voice low but hiding a small smile. He still couldn't push aside the image of Fili's face everytime he locked eyes with Rose, and Thorin found joy in his nephew's happiness. "And he seems to be fond of you."

"That's what you would call it?" Rose asked, turning the handkerchief over on Bilbo's forehead. The burglar finally stopped shivering, but he still hadn't woken. "That he is _fond of me?_ "

Thorin couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips.

"Why, isn't that accurate? Or am I mistaken?"

A sarcastic laugh left Rose's mouth, but her smile didn't reach her eyes when she turned back to face Thorin. The king froze, his amusement quickly fading.

"How do you, dwarves, express your love, Thorin Oakenshield?" she asked, something dangerous flashing in her eyes, and Thorin did not like that tone, not one bit. It felt like Rose forced herself to stay calm and not start shouting, and her hand went shockingly still in the abundance of Bilbo's locks.

Thorin was caught off-guard at the question and his eyes widened. Nevertheless, he tried to give a proper answer.

"Well, we have only a few dwarven women but... When we feel love, we usually try to do everything to make our loved one happy," Thorin started, holding Rose's gaze without uncertainty. "We respect our women and make them presents. We often braid their hair, showing our affection that way."

Rose's face only hardened at that and Thorin was truly confused now. He did not understand this girl, this strange hobbit lass that seemed to enchant anyone in her way, but was so utterly cold and repulsive now. He agreed to bringing her with them only for Bilbo, and now, he started to regret it.

"Is that all?" she asked, her voice sharp like a knife. Thorin swallowed hard.

"I suppose there is more, but-"

"Then why didn't you include completely ignoring your loved one in the moment when he needs it the most?" Rose snapped, her voice louder than before but still not quite a yell. Thorin stared at her, and he could feel the blood running out of his face. "Why didn't you include acting like a child when your loved one doesn't react the way you'd like him to? Why didn't you include rushing up to your loved one, overwhelming him and leaving him there, without any explanation whatsoever?"

Thorin had not the faintest idea of how to react. The other members of the company were staring at them oddly from the distance, listening to their argument that wasn't quite an argument (for it should've had at least two people arguing, but it was only Rose so it was more like a scolding), and Thorin grew more and more uncomfortable with every moment.

"You are speaking to a king, hobbit," he regained his composure quite quickly, but it wasn't the same. His voice sounded weaker, even to his ears, and it was a poor excuse of an answer that made Rose laugh with disdain.

"You see, _that_ is why you can't just accept that you are a feeling person, Thorin," Rose shook her head and Thorin couldn't quite believe his own eyes when he saw pity in the deep blue gaze of the hobbit. "You are not a king in love. You shouldn't be. It's not me who should be sitting here, it is you. Bilbo needs you, not me, and what is it he is hearing? That you are a king, not a simple dwarf who has feelings. You know what? We have never had a king in the Shire, and we never will. We had each other, we had love as a ruler, and we did much better than how your kin does with you!"

Thorin fell into absolute silence, his heart beating heavily in his throat. The burning feeling on his skin returned, but it wasn't because of the distance between Bilbo and him. No, it was because of the shame. The words didn't hurt him, only the truth behind them, and he felt honestly ashamed, like the times when his mother scolded him. Thorin sometimes feared his father's anger, but while he feared the yells and shouts of Thrain, he feared his mother for an entirely different reason.

He feared her because he knew she didn't have to raise her voice to make him feel bad. To make him feel ashamed. And now, it was the exact same situation.

"Easy, girl," Balin stepped ahead slowly, making Rose turn back to Bilbo and turn the handkerchief again. Bifur was right by Balin's side, both approaching with their hands close to their weapons, but Thorin just looked up at them, shaking his head slightly.

"It's fine, Balin," he said, his voice barely audible. "Rose speaks only the truth, and I thank her for it."

"There will be nothing to thank if Bilbo won't recover because you are too stubborn to tell him how you feel," Rose murmured, earning frowns from Balin and Bifur alike that she didn't even see. "Then again, it might turn out you are only _fond of him_ , like Fili is fond of me. He has strange ways to show it, though, I must give him that."

Thorin looked up from his lap slowly, only to gape with utter awe at the sight, for Rose was pulling her dark locks over her left shoulder, leaving out only one mop of hair.

 _It was braided._ A complete, real dwarven braid with dwarven beads, beads achingly familiar from Fili's hair. Thorin's stomach sank and the way Rose looked at him over her shoulder made the king catch his breath right away.

"I wish you would be as wise in love as you are in ruling your people, Thorin Oakenshield," she whispered, her expression not as hard as before, but it contained no sign of softness, and she turned back to Bilbo.

Thorin knew the argument was over with that.

***

The mountain was gone. Erebor, the dwarves, the wealth of Thrór and the dragon that protected it... They were all gone. Nothing but the desolation remained.

Desolation as wide as the whole of Middle-Earth.

Bilbo was alone, choking on the smoke that still blackened the air and the fog that thickened it. His lungs were overwhelmed and his heart beated heavily in his throat with gut-wretching fear. He didn't have his backpack, he didn't have his friends. All he had was his torn, dirty clothes, a band of cloth tied around his wrist and his ring.

The band. Tears welled his eyes as he realised that Thorin was gone as well. The hobbit knew there would be no use to yell, no use to ask for help, for there would be nought to come. He held onto the cloth tightly and let his tears roam free on his cheeks. He couldn't see but they left trails in the soft layer of dust and dirt that was covering his face. He slowly dropped to his knees, the charred ground ruining his trousers and bruising his skin. He didn't care.

_Put me on, little hobbit._

The voice came so suddenly that Bilbo shivered, started to his bones, twisting his neck frantically. He saw no one, but he was positive it wasn't only a trick of his mind. It sounded too real, yet, absolutely different from an actual person's voice. It was strange, but it kept talking.

_You can get rid of this burden, of this pain. You won't burn anymore._

Bilbo didn't even notice the burning on his skin until the voice pointed it out. The itching and stinging of his skin was already a part of his life, and getting rid of it would've been odd now. The pain, namely, reminded him of the insuperable abyss between him and his dwarf, the dwarf that wasn't quite his but he liked to believe that. Against the burning, against his common sense. He feared that, had he not been reminded of this distance, he would've believed he still had a chance.

He needed to know that he hadn't. He just wasn't sure he was strong enough to bear it now.

_You will not be alone anymore, Bilbo. You will see your friends again, you will see the Shire. All you have to do is to put me on._

The hobbit slowly bowed his head, staring intensely at his vest-pocket. He already could tell that the ring was talking to him, and he took it out with firm hands. His tears were falling to the ground silently, he never made a sound. The ring lay on his open palm now, burning his skin more than being separated from Thorin. It called him, and he listened.

"The Shire," he whispered, turning the ring between his fingers. It shone brightly, even in the dim light, and Bilbo caught himself smiling. The thought of his homeland always made him smile, and he never once had any aching spots in his memory while thinking about it. The Shire meant love, warmth, food and comfort, peace and safety. The Shire meant home. And he missed it more than anything.

_Just do it. You can be free of burdens and pain once more, little hobbit._

Bilbo raised the ring close to his face, studying it carefully. His smile was soft but wide, and he already knew what he was going to do.

He slipped it on.

And then, all hell broke loose.

Bilbo fell from his knees, the side of his face on fire from the sudden burning of the ground. Flames rose around him, consuming him while he screamed, screamed until his lungs gave out. He saw the image of a wide, fiery eye staring at him, like it was about to tear a piece out of his soul. He saw people he had never seen before, men, elves, dwarves and hobbits alike. He saw Gandalf, he saw himself, and last but not least, he saw Thorin.

He wished he hadn't.

The king lay on the ground, in a pool of his own blood, with his back facing the hobbit. He wasn't breathing, and he was terrifyingly still.

He was dead. And that was the last thing Bilbo knew, the last thing he could take.

  
He woke to much more pleasant circumstances.

A small fire heated him from his right, clicking and popping only slightly. There was the smell of warmth in the air, and, after analyzing the scent for a bit longer, he could smell food as well. Not marvellous and enticing food that he was used to while living in Bag-End, but warm food. Something he hadn't eaten for way too long.

Bilbo looked around as best as he could while he tried not to move too abruptly. He felt dizzy and he ached everywhere, but moving his eyeballs, luckily, wasn't such a torment. The first person he spotted was Rose, talking to Fili on a voice that was barely a whisper. The young prince was sitting close to her and Bilbo could tell they really tried to keep calm and not to wake him. The hobbit gently smiled to himself, watching them carefully for a few seconds.

After a moment he looked to his other side, but he was met by an enormous amount of furs, his face immediately disappearing in their abundance. He breathed in, mostly out of reflex, and he had his heart beating in his throat right away once he recognised the smell it gave off.

It was unquestionably Thorin's.

He stayed motionless for a good while, closing his eyes to the feeling that washed over him. He caught himself smiling into the furs, imagining he was curled up against Thorin instead of his belongings. He held the vivid picture in his mind with such persistence that he could actually hear the dwarf's steady heartbeat in his ears, feel the king's smile in his hair and savour the taste of iron and sunshine on his tounge. It was the perfect mirage, but it was shattered soon enough.

"Are you with us now, burglar?"

Óin's voice came directly from next to him and Bilbo jumped slightly. He snapped his head to the other side, staring at the dwarf with fear in his eyes, then, once he met the kind smile and the softness of the healer, he relaxed into the furs again.

"Are you alright? We were so worried!" Rose jumped up immediately, not waiting until her friend could give an answer. She rushed to his side, stroking her loose locks back behind her ear with an excited smile. "Do you feel better?"

"I think so, yes," Bilbo muttered after taking in his surroundings for a while. His voice was raw and hoarse from the lack of usage in the last hours and he cleared his throat shortly.

He made an unavailing attempt to sit up and get more comfortable, but when he realised his arms were too weak to hold him properly, he could see Óin smiling. The healer shook his head only slightly.

"Let the lads help you up, burglar," he advised gently and Bilbo obeyed. Rose and Fili were next to him in mere moments, supporting him from both sides as he sat up with a suppressed moan. He soon regained enough of his composure to notice Óin's outstretched arm, with a bowl of steaming food in his hand. He heard his stomach rumble right away, and he blushed. Óin just laughed. "Bombur made it for ya. Spoon it quickly, you never know when you can eat a proper meal again."

Bilbo blinked at his bowl, eyeing the stew-like stuff in it like he was given a ton of gold. He didn't know what to say, so he just raised his head to look for Bombur. The dwarf sat not too far from them, half-asleep, but Bilbo gave him a small smile, nevertheless. It touched him how these dwarves cared for him - which brought him to look for the others. His brows rose in surprise when he saw no one else but the five of them.

"Where are the others?" Bilbo asked Óin, curiosity evident in his voice. The dwarf sat down with a heavy sigh, warming his palms at the fire while he answered.

"On the piton. They carried up the rest of our belongings," answered the dwarf, something concerning ringing out from his words.

"Why? I thought Balin said the winds had no mercy up there during the night."

"Don't worry yourself, just eat," Rose gave him a reassuring smile. Bilbo knew her better than that, of course, and he could tell whenever she was lying. She was doing it right now, without a blink. "You will need your strength."

Bilbo wanted to argue, but Fili took the spoon out of his hand and pushed a huge bite into his mouth to keep him silent. The hobbit tried to talk through the mouthful of stew, but it melted on his tounge like golden toffee and he closed his eyes for a second, appreciating every moment of this rare satisfaction.

"Good, I see ya like it," Óin noted with a small chuckle, but before Bilbo could've answered, Fili was there to fill his mouth again and the hobbit almost choked. "I will have to look at ya later, to see if y're well enough to walk around without a close eye watchin' ya."

"I'm fine," Bilbo muttered, trying not to open his mouth too wide for he was taught it was rude to speak while eating. He might've been at the end of the world, with dwarves and his body sweating from the aftermath of fever, but it didn't mean he was allowed to ignore his manners.

"You almost fell off that cliff, so no, you are not fine!" Rose snapped, her voice low but sharp. Bilbo's eyes widened as he looked at her, questioning without words. "You were lucky that Dwalin was swift enough to catch you. Otherwise, you would be dead by now!"

Bilbo swallowed the bite, staring back at his bowl silently. He didn't remember much, honestly. He could recall the moment when he rushed up to that piton to look for the door in the sunshine. He remembered seeing a hole in the wall, and he also remembered Thorin yelling at him only moments before. The hobbit wanted to tell him he found it, he wanted the dwarf to see that he was useful, that he wasn't only a burden. Then, he felt like falling.

So he _did_ fall. Interesting.

"I found the keyhole," Bilbo announced, drawing attention to himself immediately. Even Bombur seemed a bit more awake, snapping up his head from his slumber. Bilbo slowly raised his head, looking at the gaping Óin.

"You found the door?" Fili whispered, his voice full of hope that he tried to hide the best he could. Bilbo could hear it perfectly, though, and he smiled a little as he turned to the prince.

"I will show you if you take me up," Bilbo offered, and Fili immediately moved to stand up but Óin's protests stopped him.

"The door won't go anywhere, lad," he waved his hand for Fili to sit down again, and the dwarf obeyed without a word. "Our burglar has to eat first, then, we will join the others."

Bilbo saw a lopsided smile on Rose's face while he put another spoonful of food in his mouth, enjoying the cavalcade of savours. The hobbit found it amusing that the youngsters didn't even try to hide their affection anymore, but it was only right this way. There was no point in acting like there was nothing at all between the two of them. Love wasn't something that one would be ashamed of, and that is why Bilbo didn't understand Thorin. If the king cared for him, which seemed only possible since he kissed the hobbit in such rush, then why would he act like this afterwards if not out of shame? There was no explanation, and it hurt Bilbo more than what he would've liked to admit.

"Are you alright, lad?" Óin asked, shaking Bilbo out of his thoughts. He nodded absentmindedly, having another bite and trying not to think about the matter anymore. It could wait when he actually had time to figure out the strange behaviour of the king - now he had to focus on getting them inside the mountain as soon as possible.

"So, Bilbo," Fili broke the silence after a minute and the hobbit raised his head to look at him. The young dwarf seemed a bit bothered and nervous, and Bilbo couldn't possibly imagine what he was about to ask for. "I am not quite familiar with these ancient customs, neither on the dwarf's or the hobbit's side, but-"

"Fili, not now," Rose interrupted, her voice containing the same nervousness, only mixed with a bit of careful sensitivity. Bilbo was truly surprised now, for he had never heard Rose speaking like this. He became really curious really quickly, and he put his half-empty bowl down to turn to Fili with a questioning look.

"What is it, Fili?"

"We cannot know whether we will have another chance to ask or not, Rose," the prince looked at the hobbit girl, and Rose took a deep breath. She didn't answer, just looked away silently and Fili turned his glance back to Bilbo. "I would like to ask for your blessing."

Heavy silence fell on the small camp and Bilbo slightly gaped. He had to twist and turn the words in his mind for a while until he completely understood what they meant, and his first reaction was a shocked blink. Then two, and then three, and it went on like this until his eyelids started to hurt and his tears started welling up without a reason.

"What?" he blurted out, jaw still hanging as he switched his look between Fili and Rose. They both were so painfully young compared to Bilbo, even if Rose was almost at his age. Their cheeks were red, their breathing heavy, and Bilbo let out an incredulous laugh. "Blessing? From _me_?"

"You are the closest thing that Rose has to a family, and I didn't have the courage to approach uncle with the matter yet," Fili spattered, his eyes frantically jumping around, desperately looking for something to stare at. "Although Kili said he would surely give his blessings and he wouldn't make a big deal out of it, but I am still a bit ner-"

"It's an easy question, lad," Óin spoke up, first time for minutes. Every head turned to him, looking at the healer expectantly. "Do ya love her?"

Fili grew silent at that, closing his parted lips softly. Bilbo gently turned his glance to eye him and he was surprised to see the endless range of emotions on the young dwarf's face as he looked at Rose. The small smile on his lips was an answer alone, but he nodded and turned back to Óin, his voice steady as he spoke.

"Yes. I do."

Bilbo saw Rose's watery smile from the corner of his eye but said nothing. There was no need for his blessing: they all knew he had already given it. He would've given anything for Rose, and the girl knew it well.

"Then I wouldn't worry about your uncle," Óin waved, an unusual smile playing on his lips. It was strange to see him in such a soft state, but Bilbo already knew that the dwarves could always surprise him. "My dear cousin can have a hard skull sometimes, but he understands love, for he feels it too. He is just too proud to admit it."

At the exact moment when Bilbo felt his cheeks heating up, for there wasn't anyone else the dwarf could've been talking about, a loud growl shook the whole mountain, and the hobbit's heart quickened for an absolutely different reason. It wasn't from the embarassment or the feelings that seemed to only deepen for Thorin.

It was from fear.

"What was that?" Bilbo asked, his voice barely a whisper, but he received no answer. All the remaining four who were there in the camp jumped to their feet, even Bombur, and Fili was already helping Bilbo up. The hobbit did not like this secrecy, not one bit, and he decided to not let it go so easily this time. "Fili, what is happening?"

"We don't have time," the prince answered with pure struggling in his eyes, and he picked up his uncle's furs and cloak from the ground as he passed the halfling. Bilbo did not understand what was happening, but Óin was at his side all of a sudden, pushing Sting into his hands.

"You have to run to the stairs as quickly as you can. You have to tell Thorin where the keyhole is," Óin grabbed his shoulders firmly and Bilbo's throat tightened. He didn't like this tone, for it had never been followed by good news. "Do not hesitate, do not look back, just run, d'ya understand?"

Bilbo nodded, desperate to ask questions, to ask someone to come with him, but Óin pushed him in the direction of the stairs and he knew he had to run. The mountain was shaking underneath his feet as he approached the long staircase and he suddenly understood. It wasn't an earthquake or a thunder. It was something way more deadly, something that came to destroy. And once it put his mind up to ruin, cost what it may, it was inescapable.

He had his mind absolutely elsewhere by the time he reached the stairs, and he ran right into a hard chest. For a moment Bilbo felt utterly dizzy from the crash, but when he looked up only to see Kili's desperate face, he gaped.

"Are you out of your mind? What are you doing, Kili?"

"Where is Fee?" the dwarf asked, his voice full of exasperation. Bilbo knew they didn't have time for this and he remembered Óin's cautionary words clearly. He grabbed Kili's wrist and started pulling him up on the stairs, but it was harder to keep a hold on the dwarf than Bilbo imagined. "I'm not leaving him here!"

He tore himself out of Bilbo's hold without a real struggle and Bilbo stared at his distant figure for a few seconds before he heard the mountain growling again. It was dangerously loud now, and the following shake was definitely stronger. He started taking the stairs without thinking for any longer, and he tried to hold back his tears as he thought of his friends still being back in the camp. He prayed to any higher power who might've been listening; he prayed for the well-being of his friends.

Bilbo didn't need more than a minute to climb the stairs and he stopped at the top, gasping heavily as he stared at the alarmed company of dwarves in front of him. They stared at him in return, Thorin stepping out of the group immediately to walk closer. Bilbo tried to ignore the mixture of worry and relief that he saw in the dwarf's eyes, for he was well aware they had more burning problems right now.

"Give me the key," he rushed forward, looking for the keyhole on the wall. It was still in the middle of the night, only the moon providing some light, and the hobbit started to run his palm over the stone wall in his search. He felt cuts and bruises covering his palm as the sharp edges touched his skin, but he did not care.

"What are y'doing?" Glóin asked, but Bilbo didn't answer. He focused, trying to absolutely shut out the ever growing sounds coming from the sky now, and once his finger slipped into a hole, he smiled brightly with relief.

"Quickly, the key!" he turned to face Thorin, and the king was already there to push the key into his hands.

Bilbo could hardly fit the key into the lock, for his fingers were shaking too wildly, but once he succeeded, there were several clicking sounds before the door opened and almost pushed him off his feet. Balin was behind him to catch him, but he regained his balance soon enough so they could force the door wider together. It was a perfect hole for their size, and Bilbo finally saw why it was so hard to catch a glimpse of it for so long.

"Hurry, get inside!" Dwalin ordered, and no one hesitated to obey.

No one but Thorin.

"Thorin, for Mahal's name-"

Dwalin was interrupted violently by Thorin, the king trying to yell louder than the growling of the beast that was closing dangerously.

"I won't go in there without the others!"

Bilbo couldn't decide whether he should've stayed on the inner side of the door or his place would've been next to Thorin, but he didn't have to keep guessing for much longer. An overwhelming wave of heat pushed him back against the tunnel's wall, and he knew they were in serious trouble now.

"Close the door!" Dori shouted. Thorin, who could be finally convinced by Dwalin to at least use the door as a shelter on the inside, turned to him with lightning in his eyes.

"We can't open it from the inside!" he yelled back and kept his foot between the wall and the door. It was almost completely dark in the tunnel, and the heat was close to unbearable, but Bilbo tried to press close to the door, listening for any sign that their friends were still alive. All he could hear, though, was the dragon's roar and the sound of flames melting the stones and setting the cliffs on fire not too far from there. His whole body was trembling from the wild images that were roaming in his head, and his heart was hammering in his throat.

"We will die if we don't close the door!" Ori tried, voice dripping with despair, more than the hobbit had every heard him speaking before.

"And so will they!" Bilbo answered, his voice far not as steady as Thorin's, but it was better than nothing.

He could feel it on his skin. Not only the burning, not only the sticky sweat from the heat, but the cold touch of _death_ as they were running out of time. It was the most terrible feeling he had ever experienced, and he closed his eyes to hold the tears back.

"Come on," he could hear Thorin murmuring next to him, eyeing the gap between the wall and the door intensely, and Bilbo's heart ached for him. "Don't abandon me, my friends."

Moments grew into seconds, seconds into minutes, and the waiting felt more and more useless. Grief and loss painted the expression of the dwarf king, and Bilbo could see hot tears welling in his eyes. His own ones were already rolling down his cheeks, for thinking about his friends dying by the fire of Smaug was too painful to bear. He wanted to tear apart the dragon with his bare hands, he wanted to go out and see the beast for himself, but he knew it wouldn't have made sense. All he would've achieved was becoming a pile of smouldering ash, nothing more. And then, he could've never fulfilled his destiny.

Yet, destiny wasn't even a crumb of comfort when your loved ones were gone.

"My dear brother," Bilbo heard Glóin's sorrowful sob from behind his back, and he knew that it was a barrier they couldn't get pass so easily. The hobbit saw the absolute agony on Thorin's face, and he knew the king succumbed at last. He held himself so far, but now, he slowly pulled away his foot from the door to let it close.

And in that moment, something absolutely unexpected happened.

Someone grabbed the door and pulled it open from the other side.

Both Thorin and Bilbo backed away from the door in shock, their tears stopping immediately, and the moment they realised they were facing their missing friends, they were crying for an utterly different reason.

"You wanted to lock us out?" Fili asked, panting heavily as he hurried inside, Bombur, Kili, Rose and Óin following closely in his tail. The door closed without anyone paying attention to it, and stunned silence fell on the dwarves that was soon broken by the heir of Ereborn. "Poor Bombur couldn't climb the stairs so easily! I would be ashamed in your place!"

He was cut off by the firm hand of Thorin, pulling both him and Kili to his chest and hugging them tightly. Bilbo watched for a second before he embraced Rose, holding his friend like he had never wanted to let her go.

"Do not do that again," Bilbo could hear Thorin murmuring into his sister-sons' ears. The brothers only nodded with their soft smiles as they clung onto Thorin like a child could cling onto his father.

"Foolish dwarves," Dwalin muttered from the background, immediately earning a grin from Bilbo as he pulled away from Rose. Glóin and Óin were still holding onto each other, and so were Bifur, Bofur and Bombur. The loss of these dwarves would've been beyond all bearings, and Bilbo tried not to think about it at all.

Silence eventually fell on them, nevertheless, as they got calm enough to take in their surroundings. They could hardly see anything, but the faint, glimmering light at the end of the tunnel provided enough light to make out each other's silhouettes. They were soon settled on the ground, leaning heavily against the wall as they listened to their own breathing. The dragon was quiet now, wreaking havoc somewhere else or maybe preparing to return and guard his gold. Still, it was a peaceful moment.

Peaceful, yet, the longer it stretched the more it felt like silence before the storm.

It was Bilbo who spoke his mind first.

"I wonder what lured out the dragon," the hobbit muttered, and he felt most of the dwarves' eyes snapping to him. His voice sounded louder than it actually was, and he curled up closer next to the wall as if it would draw back the echo of his words. "He seemed quite peaceful for a week."

"Dragons are unpredictable," Balin offered him an answer, tired and hoarse. "They are wild beasts, driven by their nature. They can sense the most irrelevant happenings and these can wake them abruptly."

Bilbo fell in deep thinking at that, trying to put two and two together. There must have been something that woke him, otherwise, none of this hectic escape wouldn't have happened in the first place.

Dwalin's voice shook him out of his thoughts, his tone gruff and low, even for him.

"How long do you wanna keep him in the dark?" he asked, immediately earning a growl from several dwarves. Bilbo looked up with curiosity, trying to figure out what was happening.

"Keep me in the dark about what?" Bilbo asked, his voice full of confusion.

"Nothing," Rose snapped, and Bilbo could actually feel the pointed look she gave Dwalin. It was the second time that night that Rose lied to him, and he wasn't about to let it slip so easily.

"It would be terrific if someone could tell me what is going on!"

Bilbo was close to snapping, and he frantically eyed the shapes in the dark, waiting for an answer. No one seemed to give him a proper response for a painfully long while, but, after even a minute of absolute silence, Thorin took a deep breath. Bilbo already knew it was going to be hard to digest if only the king was brave enough to talk about it.

"The fire lured out the dragon," he said, his voice deep and indifferent. "We made the fire for you, so you could regain your consciousness sooner. We expected it would wake the beast so we moved most of our camp to the piton. We didn't want to move you, so some of us stayed with you."

Bilbo's face fell and he didn't even realise his jaw was hanging until his lips and throat went utterly dry.

He remembered now.

The moment they arrived to the shelter of the huge cliffs to make camp, the moment they had still been so full of spirits and hope, that foggy evening. Bilbo asked why they couldn't light a fire, only a little, and Dwalin just shook his head with his usual grim expression.

"It brings out the worms," he said, his voice rough and ill-omened. Bilbo stopped asking, for he didn't quite understand. Nevertheless, he accepted.

Now that the hobbit got his answer, he fully understood.

And he was furious.

"What on Arda were you thinking?" Bilbo almost squeaked, and it required all of his willpower to hold the volume down. They really didn't need another attempt of the dragon to roast them and swallow them whole. "You knew the fire could get you killed and you did it anyway? Are you mad?"

"I was thinking the same," Dwalin noted dryly, but his voice was lost in the tension.

No one else in the company felt courageous enough to answer the fuming hobbit, so the halfling went on without stop.

"And anyway, how were you so sure that fire could help me? What would you have done without me?" he asked, his voice growing more and more incredulous with every word. "It was the worst decision, ever!"

"I regret nothing," Thorin answered, his voice steady, and Bilbo could feel the dwarf's eyes directly on him. It placed a tingling sensation under his skin, but he tried to ignore it. It really wasn't the right time for that.

"Oh, I don't think you would say the same if you had closed the door only a second sooner and five of the company would've been lost!" Bilbo was stubborn enough to not let it go so soon, but he knew he had to watch his tounge. Thorin was pretty unpredictable lately, and the hobbit wouldn't have been surprised to end up in the dungeons once the dwarf reclaimed his kingdom successfully.

"I won't apologise for saving your life!" Thorin snorted with a short, sarcastic laugh, and Bilbo swallowed hard.

 _No, Bilbo, you are not going there,_ he held out to himself, repeating this one sentence over and over again in his mind. _He won't get away with a bit of manipulation, oh no. He apparently doesn't know me if he plans on that._

"It wasn't about saving my life, and you know that!" Bilbo pealed, exasperation creasing his brows. "I wasn't even dying! You want to make it look like you acted selflessly but all you need me for is to reclaim your gold!"

Thorin let out an incredulous laugh at that, not even caring about the loudness of his voice anymore. It was absolutely odd to see him behave like that, but Bilbo was way too angry to care about it at the moment.

"Why is it so hard to believe I wanted you safe?" the king asked. "In the beginning, I might've taken you as a burglar only, but now I..."

His voice faded by the end of the sentence, rendering the whole company breathless. Everyone was staring at them now, but Bilbo had eyes only for Thorin. It was the closest they had ever gotten to talking about how they felt, talking about what had changed exactly, for the hobbit couldn't put his finger on it all alone. He needed Thorin's help, and it was the first occasion the king showed notion to share this burden.

Bilbo was waiting patiently, waiting for the king to gather his thoughts and have the courage to finally talk. His own heart was beating restlessly and rapidly in his chest, almost like it was trying to escape his ribcage, and it dulled all of the hobbit's senses.

He _needed_ to hear the words.

" _Zu zâyung hi,_ " Dwalin muttered, his voice almost swallowed by the deafening silence. He gently turned his glance to look at Thorin's struggling face, but the king never met his eyes, for his own were settled on Bilbo. The hobbit looked back, not having the faintest idea about the meaning of the harsh dwarven words, but he knew they were really close now. The breakthrough was standing on the doorstep, only waiting for a push from behind. " _Aglâb yomul khi._ "

Thorin stayed silent for a little longer, taking short breaths to control his hammering heartbeat. Bilbo wanted to yell at him already, to start begging so the dwarf could finally say what he needed to hear so desperately, but he was rooted to the spot where he was sitting, his eyes wide with anticipation. The tension was palpable in the air, and, after another minute of the seemingly neverending silence, Thorin opened his mouth.

"Bilbo, I-"

Bilbo couldn't hear the rest, for the agonizing roar shook the whole mountain and everyone snapped their heads in the direction of the light at the end of the tunnel. Blazing heat washed over them and redness coloured the air, overwhelming them with its intensity.

Smaug returned.

And Bilbo knew it was his time to fulfill what he came for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zu zâyung hi. Aglâb yomul khi. = You love him. Tell him. (Own translation, there might be a problem there. I'm sorry if there is.)
> 
> I don't even know what to say. We're slowly, slowly approaching the end, and I'm still not sure how many more chapters I will write. New and old characters are coming, and it's going to be so much fun for me to butcher the canon in the next few chapters, you have no idea.
> 
> I hope you will enjoy just as much as I do! :3
> 
> And thank you for the amazing comments and the kudos once again!


	13. Back Where We Belong

The fresh air after a day of thick heat felt so good on their skin that it was almost undescribable. The front doors of Erebor were wide open, the setting sun lighting up the horizon in blood red and pink. On any other day, it would've meant bloodshed. Maybe it meant that now as well, but no one afforded to care.

They breathed in deeply, then out. The desolation seemed distant and near at the same time, and they didn't say a word, they just stared.

Dwarves were once again standing on the doorstep of Erebor, and a heavy sigh broke its way through the dry lips of the King under the Mountain.

"We made it," he breathed, turning his back to the light and looking over his companions. Wonder spread on his face, like he couldn't even believe what he was saying was true, and he laughed shortly. It echoed through the great hall. "We reclaimed Erebor."

And he was indeed King under the Mountain now.

**48 HOURS EARLIER**

_Good luck._ What a strange pair or words.

You can be fortunate, or you cannot be. You do not choose it, you cannot choose it. As Bilbo's mother had always said, luck goes where it's allowed. But, then again, that is not quite true, is it?

Bilbo Baggins had always let luck into his life, but, in his opinion, it always seemed to avoid him. Let's just remember the beginning of his journey. The first unfortunate thing that happened to him was leaving his handkerchief at home. Then it started raining, mountain trolls wanted to eat him, an orc pack chased them, stone giants barely killed them, he was trapped in a damn goblin cave, orcs tried to kill them (again!), spiders almost ate them, the elves nearly dropped him in the dungeons as well, he almost drowned, he got sick and fainted on the edge of a dangerously tall cliff, and last but not least, they were almost roasted by a huge dragon.

Good luck. Bilbo snorted and took a deep breath.

No, there was no good luck. There was only luck, and it wasn't good or bad. Just simple luck, and it had never been on his side.

Otherwise, he wouldn't have had to face Smaug now.

He felt the eyes of his companions on his back as he walked down the tunnel as silently as he could. He wore the ring, but it made no difference. It didn't take away his fear, and it most certainly didn't soothe his heartbeat. It only achieved that he didn't feel like he was on fire, but he had an inkling that Smaug could see to it if necessary.

Of course, it wasn't.

They had been waiting for a day in the dark without making any noise before Bilbo decided to do his job. He didn't come to sit in the dark and wait another three or four decades before he felt brave enough to act. He came to steal from this dragon, and to steal he would.

The dwarves (with the exception of Thorin, of course) bid him goodbye and wished him good luck, but Bilbo was glad Rose didn't join them. She didn't say a word, only walked up to him and hugged him tightly, a promise that he must come back. And Bilbo knew he would, no matter what.

He wasn't sure of himself as he approached the mouth of the tunnel. The heat grew hotter and more unbearable with every step, and his knees soon started trembling. Something inside him longed to turn back, to see his friends just once more before he crossed the final line where there wouldn't be a chance to do it anymore. There was a small voice in his head, though, a voice that kept encouraging him that he only had to be swift and he could see them again. That was the goal that kept him going, that finally made him cross that line.

The hall Bilbo found himself in was enormous, gleaming in green and claret. The walls seemed like they had been glowing, and the other end of the hall was hidden behind a blurry curtain of heat that Bilbo couldn't cut through with his eyes only. There was no sign of a dragon, only glimmering heaps of treasure everywhere. Countless gold coins, gems of every kind, bejeweled crowns and shining goblets were what the hobbit saw, and he blinked with awe.

 _No wonder they want it back so badly,_ he wondered to himself, his mind clouded with suspicion. There was a low, steady noise in the air, resonating with every single coin, and Bilbo recognised the sound. It was the breathing of the dragon, but Smaug himself was nowhere to be seen.

The hobbit slowly moved one step ahead, careful not to slip on the gold coins. He could see the path that used to lie there back in the time of dwarves, but now the whole hall was a great mess of treasure, and Bilbo knew he had to be cautious. Even a cursed campfire could wake the dragon; he was basically on his private property right now. He danced on thin ice, and he couldn't afford being careless.

He must've been a good ten feet far from the door when he realised the hidden entrance was built in the base of an offset that ended right in the middle of the hall. Considering that he only saw one part of the treasure room, he thought the dragon must've been lying on the other side, and he gently changed direction. He moved like a real burglar, picking up goblets and some coins along the way so he could show them to the dwarves, but only in the size of his pocket. His other hand had always rested on the hilt of Sting, just in case. Not like he would've been useful with a 'letter-opener' against a dragon, but it gave him a sense of safety, somehow.

Bilbo was a few steps away from the first corner where he could see the other side when a feeling washed over him, absolutely out of nowhere. He knew this feeling very well. He felt like something was missing.

He immediately stopped, reaching for his ring. He almost sighed out loudly in relief when the ring was still on his finger, but the feeling didn't disappear, and it seriously worried the hobbit. He still had the treasure he just stole, he had Sting, he had all four limbs... And then, it dawned on him. And he almost fainted, his heart stopping right away.

The dragon. He wasn't breathing.

"I wasn't expecting visitors, and barging in without an invitation is rude."

The huge explosion-like sound came from his right, and Bilbo was on the verge of a sudden heart attack. He covered his mouth with his palm and jumped next to the wall, leaning to its curve without a sound. The hobbit's whole body was shaking as he closed his eyes and waited until all the flying gold coins would reach the ground, and he only peeked out from behind his eyelids after a good minute.

What he saw was absolutely stunning.

The creature was bigger than anything he had ever dreamed of. He thought he saw Smaug in his dreams several times now, nightmares mostly, but he was wrong. They were nothing in comparison to this enormous, gigantic animal that looked for his victim with reptile-like movements, still guarding his hoard like it meant everything for him. It probably did, but Bilbo wasn't about to start thinking about that.

He was too stunned, even for coherent thoughts.

"You cannot hide from me, thief," Smaug murmured, his voice lower than anything Bilbo had ever heard before. The hobbit still had his hand on his face, making sure he didn't make a sound and not even his breathing was audible. He wished the ground could simply swallow him, but he knew he had to go back alive. He couldn't move now, but he could wait for the right moment. "Did you really think your theft could go unnoticed? Did you really think you could make a fool out of me?"

Bilbo swallowed and slowly took a deep breath. He had to act, and he had to do it quickly. His hand was trembling violently when he gently removed it from his lips, reaching for a single gold coin in his pocket. He was careful not to make any noise while he closed his fingers around the coin, still in his pocket, then he suddenly whipped it out and let it fly. The movement hurt his wrist, but the fact that Smaug didn't even flinch numbed him enough to forget about the pain.

 _Alright, fooling him was obviously not a good plan_ , Bilbo thought, his mind frantically looking for a solution. He realised the dragon knew exactly where he was standing, that is why he didn't even snap his head or moved his eyes when the gold coin landed. _Then why didn't he kill me?_

"Your smell doesn't seem familiar to me," Smaug noted, his voice almost casual, and Bilbo only kept thinking. "It is actually quite strange for an invisible creature, a thief to be precise, to have a smell."

Bilbo didn't know what to do. Not answering the dragon might've only angered him, or might've gotten Bilbo killed. Answering the dragon might've only angered him, or might've gotten Bilbo killed.

Well, there wasn't much of a choice in the end, was there? He only hoped that, once in his life, luck would have mercy on him.

"I am, uhm," he started, his voice small and almost lost in the huge space, but Smaug kept staring at him without a blink. "I come from very far away, that is why you cannot recognise my smell."

Smaug only chuckled at that. Bilbo tried not to be more shocked at that than what was necessary, but he couldn't really help himself. He wasn't quite used to hear dragons laughing at him.

 _They won't believe me in the Shire_ , he thought to himself, wiping his forehead in a hurry. He didn't even realise he was dripping with sweat until a drop almost got into his eye and he started to water.

"I smell dwarves on you, but you are most certainly not one of them," Smaug leaned closer ever so slightly, and Bilbo immediately had his heart beating in his throat. He pressed closer to the wall, wished he could become one with it, but Smaug had no intention to hurt him. Yet. "Did they come to weep over their mountain?"

"Rather over their gold," it slipped out of Bilbo's lips and he regretted it right away. He cursed every single higher power who was in charge when he was born, but Smaug simply laughed again, more heartily this time.

"Oh yes. I remember how they yearned for their treasure when I claimed it, even those who had been eaten up by the flames," the dragon mused, his voice full of nostalgia. Bilbo felt sick to his stomach immediately, but it only woke him from this half-mesmerized state he had been lingering in for minutes now. He remembered he had to move, so he gently started to inch away to his right, carefully following every step of his feet with his eyes.

"I have heard of your great deeds," Bilbo said, his voice more confident now. He saw the door, he only had to reach it. "The news of your magnificence didn't miss the far lands over the hills and under the hills either. The hills where I come from."

"Indeed," Smaug said, raising his jaw high. He looked even more grandiose in that position. "Tell me then, thief. You lie and steal like a proper burglar, but your voice betrays you. Did the dwarves offer you a huge reward for coming here and lying to me?"

It was Bilbo's turn to chuckle now, but it was definitely more frustrated than the dragon's.

"I would not lie to you."

"So they did," Smaug didn't even need an answer, and Bilbo could feel his face flinch. There was only up to five feet between him and the door, but there had also been a huge heap of gold in the way that the dragon must've accidentally swept over there with his tail. Bilbo knew there was no other way to cross it than to jump, but it was too risky. The dragon's focus was still on him, and he couldn't escape like that. "Dwarves are greedy, burglar. The cup in your possession is the most you can return home with, I can assure you."

"I don't need their treasure," Bilbo said, voice firm but hands still shaking against the wall behind him. "They can have it all."

"Selfless thief you are, I can see that now," the hobbit could've sworn Smaug was smiling, but it was hard to see for his skin was so utterly dark and the smile didn't reach his eyes at all. "It is sentiment, then, that binds you to them."

 _Is he reading my mind?_ Bilbo asked himself incredulously, trying to keep his balance. Inside and outside alike.

"Once they reclaim their precious kingdom, you will mean nothing for them," Smaug continued, his voice dripping with manipulation. In spite of knowing this, though, Bilbo felt a knot in his stomach that only grew and grew, and it was even more uncomfortable than staring eye to eye with a dragon. "It is in their nature. You should've counted on that before you agreed to help them, thief."

_The nice words, the soft looks, the kiss... What if it all was to keep me from leaving? What if they didn't trust me and they tried to make me stay like that?_

Bilbo shuddered at the thought, but he knew it was the exact thing the dragon was playing him for. He tried to plant doubt in his mind, he tried to make him question everything he had worked for, to question his own feelings. He knew it was his time to put Smaug off, to find the most unexpected answer and say it.

He soon caught himself smiling knowingly.

"So, are you saying they _can_ reclaim their kingdom?" he asked, watching with satisfaction as Smaug pulled his head back ever so slightly, confusion glimmering in his eyes. "Because you just said that."

"Weak Dwarves and powerless Men against a dragon?" Smaug asked, his voice thicker and somehow more irritated - but still not quite angry. Bilbo had to make him snap, so he could jump over the heap and leave as soon as he could. "You must've misheard the news about me if you think such things, thief."

"Men?" Bilbo all but laughed, his voice echoing through the halls. He felt foolish for being so brave, for playing his fate, but he needed to find the soft spot. He needed to bring the worst out of this beast. "Who said a word about Men?"

"Just keep lying, you miserable, invisible burglar," Smaug raised his voice, and even Bilbo's insides started shivering from the capacity of that sound. "Wait until I return and bring the smell of a town in flames with me, with all your friends burning and yelling for help!"

The volume was deafening, and Bilbo took his chance to jump. He almost slipped when he landed, turning too swiftly to disappear in the tunnel, but the heat of flames chased him, making him run faster than how he had ever run in his entire life. The roar of the dragon shook the whole mountain, the sound of falling gold distant in the hobbit's ear. He had never been more relieved to see the figure of his friends in the end of the tunnel than in that moment.

Bilbo was absolutely breathless by the time he reached the company, and he all but collapsed on the ground, gasping for precious oxygen. He saw dots dancing behind his eyelids, and he lay on the ground for a long time when Kili spoke up, despair dripping from his voice.

"Bilbo, the ring! We can't see any of you!" the dwarf urged and Bilbo realised he still had the ring on. He pushed himself up and slipped the trinket off his finger, dropping it in his vest pocket. The whole company was around him in a second, holding his shoulders and ruffling his hair with enthusiasm.

"Bilbo, are you alright?" Rose knelt directly in front of him, cupping his face with both hands. Bilbo opened his eyes tiredly, simply nodding as an answer, and let his friend pull him closer and hug him tightly. He wasn't too weary to reject the hug, so he raised his arms and wrapped them around Rose, holding her until she pulled away.

"What happened?" Fili asked from the background, and Bilbo raised his head. Most of the dwarves had the same look on their faces, filled with joy and relief and only the tiniest bit of concern.

The only exception was Thorin.

The dwarf king seemed to be on the verge of a panic attack, his eyes wide and his face completely covered in worry. Bilbo's heart quickened at the sight even more, the words of the dragon slowly fading from his ears.

_Once they reclaim their precious kingdom, you will mean nothing for them._

The hobbit knew it was a lie. And he not only knew, he saw. It was written all over Thorin's face, and it wasn't something one could pretend so easily.

"I spoke to him," Bilbo finally answered, his eyes still lingering directly on Thorin. "I think I angered him."

"How much? And with what?" Balin asked, and the hobbit turned to him. There was something concerning in his eyes that Bilbo couldn't put his finger on, but it didn't fill him with good feelings, not one bit.

"He thought I was lying to him," Bilbo shook his head with confusion, shrugging slightly. "He said something about Men, he was sure they helped us. I said they didn't, and he fled in total rage."

Silence fell on the tunnel, everyone digesting the information. Only Rose seemed to suddenly understand something, for she stood up so violently that she lost her balance right away, and had it not been for Fili, she would've fallen to the ground. Her expression was dripping with absolute horror, and she frantically looked at the dwarves, switching her glance like a frightened bird.

"What's wrong?" Fili asked, holding her close to try to calm her. She was trembling, and Bilbo knew that whatever it was, it meant only bad things.

"Smaug will destroy Esgaroth," Rose breathed, her voice shaking with fear. She looked up at Thorin with pleading in her eyes, then back to Bilbo who didn't seem to understand anything. "He thinks Men helped us because I stole the clothes you wear from Laketown! And not only the clothes, the food, the equipment, everything!"

Shocked tension filled the air, and Bilbo slowly stood, his jaw hanging. Rose was already crying, her tears rolling down her cheeks like waterfalls.

"He smelled Men on us," Bilbo whispered, looking down at his clothes. He remembered Rose offering clothes to them while they spent that one night in her cave, back on the edge of Mirkwood, but he only accepted a new pair of trousers. Fili though, for example, had changed all of his torn and dirty clothes to new ones, and so did many other dwarves in the company. "And now he will attack the city."

Dwalin broke the silence first. The mountain was already calm and free of the dragon's wrath when the dwarf's fist met the wall of the stone tunnel, and the sound made everyone jump. Rose was sobbing silently, burying her face in the chest of Fili. Everyone knew it wasn't her fault, but it was irreversible now.

Bilbo stood in one place for a while, feet rooted in the ground. After a few second did he reach into his pocket and pulled out the golden goblet, staring at the jewels shining in its side for a while before he stepped in front of Thorin and held it out. The dwarf king stared at him in awe, but his eyes were full of guilt and pain. He reluctantly took the goblet, never once looking at it but only at Bilbo. The hobbit knew there weren't any words to say, so he just gave the king a bitter smile and turned away to sit down at the base of the wall.

He could feel Thorin's gaze lingering on him for a while afterwards.

***

No one complained about being hungry or thirsty or tired for hours.

The dwarves had been sitting on the ground, staring aimlessly ahead of them into the darkness. Thorin felt the pain they all shared, and he wished he could've taken all of it from their shoulders, he wished he could've freed them from this burden that was only meant for him. But there was no way, and he had to equally grief the loss of innocent lives, just as his companions did during those hours.

No one knew how long they had been sitting there, but Thorin felt like it was way too long. Esgaroth was close, and burning it down, especially for such a huge beast as Smaug didn't take so much time. The dragon had not returned - they would've noticed that. He might've still wreaked havoc in Laketown or there might've been something else to keep him busy. Either way, Erebor was empty now, and Thorin knew they couldn't keep sitting in the dark until they would be dead too. They were dangerously close to running out of food, and if he had a say in the matter, he was sure he wouldn't let his whole company starve and eventually die.

He couldn't take any more guilt. He didn't want to be responsible for any more lives.

Thorin Oakenshield stood, drawing attention to himself immediately. Even those who seemed to sleep looked up, curiosity creasing their eyebrows.

"Smaug had not yet returned," the dwarf king said, his voice hoarse and deep. "We need to go and see what he had done to our kingdom."

"And when he comes back?" Dwalin asked. There was an expression on his face that obviously asked, 'are you out of your mind, Thorin?', but the king didn't care.

"I cannot sit here while I know what is in there," he gestured towards the end of the tunnel, the light luring him more and more with every second. It wasn't just the gold and the treasure, it was the feeling of home he missed so badly for decades now, and if he had to die to only feel it for ten seconds, then so be it.

"Thorin is right," Bilbo stood up as well, and Thorin stared down at him. He tried to ignore how tight his chest felt all of a sudden once his eyes met the hobbit's, but it was definitely harder than he thought. "We might even find some food. And water. And Smaug had not returned for a very long time now, I am sure we still have time to look around."

The dwarves seemed like they could've used a little bit more convincing, but they eventually started standing up, sending pointed looks at both Thorin and Bilbo. The king felt a small smile tugging at his lips for the first time in days, but it soon fell when he saw that Fili and Rose were still sitting on the ground.

The girl looked absolutely crushed, her eyes red and her face still wet from tears. Fili was murmuring something in her ear, maybe to comfort or soothe her, but it did not seem to work. Thorin knew the hobbit girl blamed herself for everything that happened, but he needed her to focus, and also, to not break down under her guilt. It was something he had learned a long time ago, and he had to make Rose understand as well.

He stepped out of the circle of his company, slowly approaching the girl and his sister-son, then, he knelt before her. This movement alone was enough for Rose to snap her head up, staring at Thorin with wide eyes. The king took a deep breath.

"I lost many of my family and many of my best, closest friends under this mountain," he started, his voice silent but steady enough for everyone to hear. "The beast came without warning, it took what was rightfully ours, including lives.

"For a long time, I blamed myself. I kept saying this to myself, 'What if I was swifter? What if I noticed the beast sooner so I could've emptied the halls and we wouldn't have had to lose so many?' Many 'what ifs' whirled around in my head in those days, until one day, my father came up to me." Thorin felt a smile spreading on his lips, a fond smile that he only wore when he was thinking about Thrain. "He was the wisest dwarf I have ever known, and he had known me so well. He came up to me and said, 'The only way out is through, Thorin. If you cannot swim, you don't let yourself drown, for the weight of water will be only harder and harder to bear above you. You come up for air, my son. You survive.'"

He hesitated there for a moment, getting swallowed by his memories before he came back to reality again, looking into Rose's deep blue eyes. She was listening like a child would listen to her parent, and it made Thorin smile for a moment. She looked way too young for this guilt and pain. He had to take it from her.

"What had happened, it is not your fault," he said, his voice gentle. "If you need someone to blame, then blame Smaug. You did not take lives, Rose, it was only the dragon's doing. So do not burden yourself. I liked you better when you were angry at me."

Rose smiled widely at that, a watery chuckle escaping her lips. Thorin smiled back, standing up slowly when he made sure the girl would be alright now, and he took a deep breath.

"Let's go," the king said firmly, nodding to Dwalin before they all started walking towards the end of the tunnel.

With Smaug gone, some of the unbearable heat left with him and the company found it appreciably easier to move around in the darkness. The closer they got to the door, the heavier their hearts were beating, and once they laid eyes on the sight in front of them they were rendered absolutely breathless.

All the treasure of Erebor, the riches of Thrór filled that room, some heaps of gold coins stretching as far as the ceiling. Most of the massive columns stayed unharmed, the capitals covered in a thick layer of dust. That was the only sign of the passing decades, the once mighty hall being abandoned for long years.

It felt like a lifetime since Thorin last walked this room, pulling away his grandfather from his beloved treasure, from the Arkenstone. The dwarf king felt the smell of iron and the so peculiar scent of Erebor itself, even now that the air was thick with the odour of Smaug. He closed his eyes and he could remember endless afternoons spent here when he was a child, the pride he had always felt to live in a kingdom that is so prosperous.

Knowing that this prosperity brought upon the doom of his home, placed a knot in his stomach. Thorin slowly opened his eyes, only to see his companions spreading out in the huge hall, touching the gold keenly. They came such a long way, and now, here they were. Back where they belonged, at last.

"Do not wander off too far," he cried out to his friends. His voice might have been strong and firm, but it was almost completely lost in the huge space and he fought the urge to smile. He missed this place, more than he could've properly expressed. "In case the dragon finds its way back."

"Do you think he will come back?"

The voice of Rose came from behind him and he turned around swiftly, not expecting the hobbit girl to stand there. She still looked heavy-laden, her eyes puffy and red, and the dwarf king truly felt sorry for her. Rose was a strange girl, but she didn't deserve this.

None of them did.

"I do not know," he sighed, turning back to feast his eyes on the gold heaps. Thinking about all the dead people in Esgaroth suddenly turned his stomach enough to not enjoy the sight of all the treasure, and he swallowed hard. "We cannot go back into that tunnel. We have to find another way out."

"Bilbo said the dragon destroyed all the entrances," Rose furrowed her brows, but Thorin shook his head, looking down at her.

"He needed to leave one door unharmed if he wanted to leave Erebor once in a while," he said. "He used the front gate. It is the only one big enough for him to get through."

Thorin inhaled deeply after that, looking after his friends with a softness on his face that he could actually feel. They seemed absolutely unworried and carefree, only having eyes for the treasure. While some of them only wandered between the heaps, their eyes wide with awe, others (like Fili and Kili for example) were lying on the golden bed, huge grins spreading on their faces as they stuffed their pockets with coins. Fili had a crown on his head, one that was really familiar to Thorin but he couldn't quite remember why. The prince turned around to look at Rose and bowed with a giant smile, his arms stretched out. He looked like a fool, but Thorin just shook his head, the corners of his mouth curling up. Rose laughed heartily, forgetting about her sadness immediately, and she started running towards the dwarf, careful not to slip on the gold.

Hours they spent in the treasure room, and Smaug not once seemed to come around, not even by the time they got tired of swimming in gold coins. Most of them found it hard to hope that the beast fled for good and they were never going to see him again, but Dwalin and Bifur eventually took it upon themselves to go out and bring food and water. While they were gone, the rest of the company sat close to the nearest exit that led to the main hall with the front gate, chatting silently in groups of two and three.

Thorin sat on a gold heap a bit farther, sinking deep in his thoughts when Bilbo suddenly walked up to him, slowly approaching him from his right. He wasn't started by the hobbit's appearance, mostly just surprised, and his heart immediately started beating faster. The memory of Bilbo running back to them after the encounter with Smaug, the moment when he gave the king the goblet, they were all roaming in his mind and he had to restrain himself from jumping to his feet like a wee dwarfling.

"How do you feel?" Bilbo asked casually, keeping his eyes on the ground as he settled next to Thorin. Not too far, and yet, not close enough. Thorin swallowed hard after he caught himself staring for longer than what he intended, and cleared his throat.

"I," he started, not quite knowing how to continue. He didn't even know how he felt at the moment. Was he happy? Was he worried? Was he relieved or angry? He couldn't tell, so he just shrugged and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "I could use some warm food and a good sleep, I guess."

Bilbo softly smiled at that, still not looking directly at the king but staring at his knees instead, and Thorin felt a tugging at his lips at the sight. The nearness of Bilbo was filling him with warmth he hadn't felt for a very long time now, and he never wanted the hobbit to leave.

"I feel good now, and it's strange," Bilbo bowed his head, playing with something between his fingers that Thorin couldn't see, for his sleeves were too long. "I feel like I have done my job. It's strange, because... I didn't really do anything. I faced a dragon and I'm still alive. It makes me feel good."

Thorin stayed silent, staring at the face of his burglar for long, speechless moments. He looked tired, but there was a kind of glimmer in his eyes that told the opposite. He seemed painfully young in that moment, and Thorin had to gather all his remaining will-power to not do anything stupid.

"I don't think Smaug will come back," Thorin said gently, and Bilbo looked up at him with a questioning expression on his face. "You knew how to talk to him, you knew what to do to make him leave, and it might've been his undoing. You've done way more than what you give yourself credit for."

The way Bilbo's lips slowly parted with awe made Thorin smile. If only he could've told this small creature how much he meant to him, if only he had had the strength to talk to him openly and not making him suffer for so long... They might've gotten to this part more quickly. But Thorin didn't feel guilt now, only pure and unmixed affection, and it was relieving.

"I... I found something," Bilbo blurted out suddenly, not quite breaking the moment, but changing the look on Thorin's face from softness to curiosity. He was still staring directly into the eyes of the dwarf king, even when he reached into his pocket with slow movements. "I wasn't sure it was what I thought it was... But I think it belongs to you."

Confusion creased the dwarf's brows as he followed the bow of the hobbit's head, and when the halfling's fingers uncurled from around the said 'belonging', Thorin's jaw hung open.

It was the _Arkenstone_ , shining and glistening on the palm of Bilbo, and Thorin felt his heart tightening at the sight. He remembered seeing it above the throne of his grandfather, swallowing the smallest rays of light and refracting them to thousand others. It was the only gem in Middle-Earth that the dwarves would've given their lives for, especially the sons of Durin, and now, it was mere inches away from the King under the Mountain.

He looked up at the eyes of Bilbo with awe, not quite believing what he was seeing, but the hobbit gave him a reassuring smile.

"Take it, it is yours to hold. Let it be a good omen for the beginning of your kingdom."

Thorin didn't even realise that most of the dwarves had already been standing around them, staring at the Arkenstone with absolute, stunned silence. He wanted to take it into his hands, to hold it and feel it against his fingers; a thing he had never been allowed to do. Now, when he had the chance, he wasn't sure he was ready for it.

"One day, you shall be king," his mother always used to tell him, her delicate hand resting on his shoulder. Sometimes she caught him standing in front of the throne in the empty hall, looking up at the Arkenstone and admiring it. She never scared him when she appeared out of nowhere, for the air was suddenly filled with her flowery scent that everyone adored so, and Thorin always knew when she came. "One day, these shall be yours. The stone, the throne, the whole kingdom."

"Will I be a good king, mother?" he asked, his voice unsure and longing. She walked around him to face him, cupping his face with both of her hands, giving him the most beautiful smile he would ever see.

"You are my son," she caressed his face gently, his eyelids falling closed under her soft touch. He breathed in slowly, filling his lungs with her smell. "You don't need a stone to be a good king. You will be the greatest dwarf lord the world has ever seen."

Once Thorin's fingertips touched the Arkenstone, goosebumps ran over his whole body and he trembled. It was heavier than what he imagined, but he held it firmly and stroked it softly with his thumb. He could still feel the warmth of Bilbo's palm on it and he looked back at the hobbit, a gentle smile on his face.

"Welcome back to Erebor, Thorin."

He could've never wished for anything else.

***

Lord Smaug the Impenetrable lay dead on the clearing close to Esgaroth.

The trees were still smoking in the light of the setting sun, but the cries of the people were slowly fading away, finding their loved ones and families gradually. Dead men were lying across the streets, afire and terrifyingly still, houses once standing proud and radiating the warmth of a family living there now had been smashed into the ground, and stray children wandered on the streets, looking for their parents.

The archer named Bard walked down these streets, measuring the destruction. He soon reached the end, staring at the giant corpse of the once mighty dragon, and he felt his fingers stretching absentmindedly as he recalled the moment he let the arrow fly. He ended the beast, and he saved the city. Most of the people didn't even know it was him, but he didn't need acknowledgment.

He only needed answers.

"Nice shot for a man."

The sudden remark of the figure standing next to Bard didn't even make the archer flinch. He saw him earlier, talking to the Master and ordering his people, mostly healers to walk around the most destructed parts of Esgaroth and help the injured. They were elves, and, despite their help, Bard didn't particularly trust them.

He didn't trust anyone.

"I bet you meant it as a compliment, but I am sure you understand why I can't take it as one."

The elf smiled at that, a cunning smile that was so unusual for his kin. He was a bit taller than Bard, lithe and sublime with long, silver-blonde hair and a crown on his head. It looked like it was made of antlers, stretching high, reaching out to the orange sky above them. Bard assumed he was the famous Elvenking.

"Have you heard of the treasure of Thrór?" the elf asked, his voice low and steady. Bard crossed his arms in front of his chest, clearing his throat with a sigh.

"I do not know any who hasn't."

"The treasure is now unguarded," he continued, but Bard kept his eyes on the dragon's motionless body. "The dwarves of Erebor lured out the beast in order to reclaim their homeland."

"And?" the archer turned to him, meeting the icy blue eyes almost on the same level. The Elvenking's face was unfathomable, and Bard narrowed his eyes. He didn't understand what the elf wanted from him and he was annoyed.

"There are thirteen dwarves against the men of Laketown," the smile had returned to the Elvenking's face. "Who else could aid you in rebuilding Esgaroth from its ruins if not the dwarves?"

Bard stayed silent for a while then turned back to Smaug, thinking deeply. He knew the elf spoke the truth, but he also knew it wasn't so easy to receive the wished aid. Dwarves were greedy, and while asking for help alone was not a problem, being faced with a selfish king who only cared about his own kin was a difficult situation. Bard wasn't a diplomat, he was a simple soldier. Yet, he had to choose now, for he commanded his men, not else.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second, his whole body tense. Then, he turned to the Elvenking again, looking straight into his eyes.

"I will need your help, if you wish to aid me, Elvenking."

The blonde elf just widened his smile as an answer.


	14. Words We Never Said

It was on a morning, once again thick with fog when Thorin Oakenshield, now King under the Mountain stepped out of the front gate of Erebor.

He threw away the torn, dirty clothes and wore the ones that were more fit for a king, the ones that were waiting in his chambers for long years. Two princes and two counselors walked by his side, also in clear and proper clothes - they bathed for the first time after weeks, and they slept in their beds. The sense of comfort radiated from them.

The ones they came to welcome were approaching on horses, now dismounting and nearing on feet. Many others followed them while a few stayed behind with the horses.

One of them was a tall, valiant man with long, dark curls and a bow on his back. Thorin didn't know him, only the ones walking by his side. They were taller, lithe and blonde, one of them only inches smaller than the other. The King under the Mountain eyed them, then, once they were close enough, he stepped out of the line of his own kin.

"Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thrór," the dark haired man said, his voice deep and firm. He narrowed his eyes as he stepped in front of the dwarf king, taking him in closely. Thorin found it greatly uncomfortable to keep looking up at him, for he was much taller than the dwarf. He said nothing. "I am Bard and I come from Esgaroth. I am the one who killed the beast you lured out."

Thorin bowed his head ever so slightly.

"I believe we owe you a great lot, Bard the Bowman."

"You owe me nothing, King under the Mountain," Bard shook his head, something glimmering in his eyes that told Thorin he found it amusing. "Esgaroth is in ruins. The elves brought healers, but they cannot help me rebuild my town. I need gold for that, gold that they cannot provide me."

The king's eyes slowly slid to the said elves and he held back a growl once his eyes met Thranduil's. He remembered the last time they met, and the desire for vengeance still burned his insides. Seeing Legolas, however, was a relief, even though the prince did not look him in the eye. He stood close to his father, his face grim and serious.

Thorin eventually turned back to Bard, clearing his throat before speaking.

"I share the grief over the destruction of the dragon, for I myself have seen as well how he ruined our once mighty kingdom," Thorin started, his voice low. He looked into the eyes of the man firmly. "I cannot give you comfort, only offer you a place where we can come to an agreement."

"I do not come for comfort, Thorin Oakenshield," Bard said, his voice softer than before. He obviously saw that Thorin wasn't against a peaceful discussion, and it eased his suspicion. "I come for aid."

"And aid is what you shall receive," Thorin answered, moving backwards a few steps. "Welcome to Erebor."

***

There was a time when Fili and Kili were absolutely obsessed with politics.

It was back in Ered Lúin where their small number of teachers and their very exhausted uncle tried to put as many information about ruling a kingdom in their head as they possibly could. Needless to say, they didn't succeed.

It wasn't because they were foolish, it was mostly because they were really young and they saw plotting behind every great historical event. Especially if they were in connection with elves. (They kept asking Thorin for almost a week if he had ever been 'ensnarled in the plot'. The king had no idea what plot they were talking about, but it was irritating. Luckily, they got bored of it before Thorin could've yelled their heads off.)

After months of suffering, Thorin finally gave up and let the lads practice shooting arrows and wielding swords instead. They slowly grew older and realised that politics wasn't as exciting as they thought, and that plotting was actually really rare and not at all a nice business. So they stuck with their weapons instead, and Thorin appreciated their choice.

Now, as they had been sitting by the huge table that somehow remained untouched by the dragon, both Fili and Kili felt like they were being tortured. Elves, men and dwarves sat there as well, but they seemed more interested in this negotiation than the brothers. Everyone talked about gold and people and rebuilding kingdoms, and Kili finally understood that it was politics.

And he found _nothing_ interesting in it at all.

He also had to realise that it didn't matter how intensely he eyed Legolas, the elf wouldn't look back at him, and it made him worried. He saw the look in Thorin's eyes that obviously meant 'hold yourself together until we finish', but Kili found it extremely hard to do so. He hadn't heard Legolas speaking since they were in Erebor, and he was thinking of the worst possibility already.

Long hours passed without anything interesting happening when Thorin suddenly cleared his throat and stood from the table. Bard and the elves had done the same, so Kili and Fili guessed they must do so as well. Everyone was standing, and the King under the Mountain turned to Bard.

"The gold shall be taken to Esgaroth, and your men shall be expected in Erebor tomorrow."

"Thank you, Thorin Oakenshield," Bard bowed his head, his distant behaviour from earlier completely gone. Kili admired his bow for a long time, but he came to the conclusion that it was nothing compared to his own or Legolas'. "You showed himself wise and selfless. You are a great king."

The men retreated from the table then, and so did most of the dwarves with the exception of Fili and Thorin. Kili was still standing, rooted to the spot where he had been staying since he jumped to his feet, and, while Thranduil approached Thorin, Kili kept his eyes on Legolas. The young prince was still sitting in his chair, his head lowered and his eyes focused on one point of the table. It looked like he was restraining himself, and Kili just wanted to shout with desperation, but he knew he couldn't. He just watched, and felt his heart breaking.

"Kili," Thorin's voice shook the prince out of his thoughts and Kili snapped his head up like a frightened stag. There was something knowing in the eyes of his uncle, but Kili couldn't put his finger on it. "Show the prince of Mirkwood to his room, would you?"

Kili's heart immediately jumped into his throat, beating harder than it had ever beaten and he nodded anxiously. Thorin then pulled Thranduil aside, deeply conversing with him about something that Kili wasn't interested in anymore. He only had eyes for the said prince of Mirkwood who was already walking towards the door, never once removing his eyes from the ground.

"I don't even know which room should I take him," Kili hissed as he stepped next to his brother, desperation obvious on his face. Fili rolled his eyes.

"You _idiot_ , uncle wanted to give you two some time in private," Fili muttered, nodding towards Legolas with his head. The elf was standing at the door, waiting patiently for Kili to join him - of course, without looking at him even once. "Do not waste your time, Kee, just go!"

And Kili didn't waste any more time.

He cursed himself for not paying attention when Thorin informed them about where each elf and man was to be placed, so their walk mostly consisted in Kili following Legolas and trying to keep his pace. He still had his heart hammering in his throat, and he opened his mouth to say something many times, but actual words never came out. And it frustrated him greatly.

It seemed like Legolas didn't really need him to show the way, for he led them there without getting lost even once. Kili felt ashamed somewhere deep inside, for he got lost with Fili like five times in the last two days, and he still couldn't find his room sometimes for the first try.

"Thank you for your service, Kili," Legolas said while opening the door, his eyes fixed on the floor. Kili's mouth hang open, and he was dangerously close to snapping. "That would be all."

Legolas was already halfway through the door and just about to close it in Kili's face when the dwarf could finally gather enough of his composure to act something. He swiftly put his foot between the door and the wall, and, for the first time since they arrived, Legolas looked at him, directly in the eyes. His gaze was full of shock and confusion, but Kili could see fear as well and it made his stomach sink. His own face was determined and he breathed heavily, mostly to fight down his building anger.

"What happened to you?" Kili asked, his voice incredulous and at least an octave higher than usually. "What is wrong with you, Legolas?"

The elf blinked, gaping slightly from the sudden snapping of the dwarf, then he tore his glance from him again. Kili was on the edge of yelling now.

"Nothing," Legolas muttered, his cold composure silently cracking as his fingers started trembling on the handle of the door. Kili couldn't hold himself back for any longer.

He tore the door open and barged in, shutting it loudly behind him. Legolas was in complete shock now, not quite knowing what to do besides standing awkwardly by the door, and Kili had had enough of it. He grabbed the elf's ivory wrist and pulled him to the bed, sitting him down fiercely so they could be on eye-level.

"Talk to me, Legolas," the dwarf said, his voice firm but softer than before, and he didn't let go of Legolas' hand. His fingers merely entwined with the elf's, but Legolas didn't show any sign of reciprocating the gesture. Kili didn't give up, though.

"You shouldn't be here," Legolas said. Every word he said was barely a murmur, but Kili understood it perfectly and only shifted closer to the elf. He was now looking down at their hands, but still didn't move it anywhere.

"Tell me something I don't know," Kili smiled gently. "Tell me what's wrong."

Legolas stayed silent, still reluctant to look at the prince but he eventually opened his mouth to speak.

"My father despises you," he looked up with eyes so sad that Kili wasn't even touched by the words, only by the look of the elf. "He was outraged when it turned out I helped you escape, and-"

"He knows you helped us?" Kili's face fell, his heart twisting in his chest. He had never wanted that to happen. Bilbo told them the plan they used for the escape, and Kili was absolutely stunned by it. He thought the truth could never come to light.

"I ruined the plan by coming after you, so yes, he knows," Legolas said with a sad half-smile, his eyes lingering on Kili's face. "But it doesn't matter now."

"Of course it matters!" Kili said on a voice slightly louder than how he wanted, and his mouth closed shut right away. He squeezed the elf's hand in his own, moving even closer to him with his whole body. "Did he hurt you?"

"It doesn't matter, Kili!" Legolas was stubborn enough to never say it out loud, but Kili knew the truth. His heart immediately started aching for the elf, his elf who took the blame for everything and had to change for his father's sake, leaving everything that was truly him behind. It was the worst punishment imaginable for the young dwarf. "What only matters is that... I cannot choose between my father and the one I love. I just can't."

Kili understood how serious the question was, but at the word 'love' his heart skipped a beat and he stopped breathing. He knew his own feelings and he accepted them, he embraced them and would've never denied them, but hearing this from the lips of Legolas was something entirely different. It made him smile, and he let out a small huff of breath.

"You love me?" he asked, his voice small and silent. The change on Legolas' face was something he had never seen before on anyone. Fear and despair disappeared, getting replaced by pure admiration and love. It sent a warm wave over Kili's body, covering his whole being in goosebumps.

"What were you thinking so far?" The smile that appeared on Legolas' lips was so beautiful that Kili laughed out loudly at the sight. It was more than wonderful to see his old self still being there under the mask that Thranduil forced on him, and, out of pure joy, Kili immediately placed his hands on both sides of Legolas' face. The elf closed his eyes for a second, covering Kili's hands with his own and leaning into the touch with need.

"I don't know," Kili answered after a few long moments, just simply staring at Legolas' face as the elf kept his eyes closed. His voice was barely a whisper. "I only knew that I loved you."

Legolas opened his eyes slowly, his face absolutely unreadable for the dwarf. It consisted of so many emotions that no one could've read them off correctly, let alone Kili with his heart close to stopping for good. He swallowed hard as he gently ran his thumb over the line of Legolas' jaw.

"You don't have to choose," the dwarf said, his eyes buried in Legolas' deep blue ones. "I won't let them make you choose. No one can make you do something that you don't want to. You won't cease to exist as an elf just because you love a dwarf, and me neither. Thranduil will still be your father, and I am sure once my uncle gives his blessings, your father will do so as well."

"Thorin will give his blessings?" Legolas murmured with the slightest bit of surprise in his voice, and Kili chuckled gently.

"He is in love with Bilbo. He would never live it down if he denied this from me after all of the drama he made for himself with poor Mister Baggins," Kili said, and they both started laughing at the same time, their foreheads meeting as they leaned closer to each other.

They soon fell into comfortable silence after that, with their eyes closed and breathing in the same air. Kili could've wished for nothing else in that moment, but he still had one more thing to say.

"Please don't ignore me like this again," he muttered, his voice pleading and his eyes opening to look at Legolas. The elf stared back at him, guilt shining in the blue orbs that Kili imagined so many times in the last weeks. "I couldn't bear it."

Legolas didn't answer, he just gently pulled the dwarf closer and touched his lips to Kili's.

Kili took it as another promise.

***

Ruling a kingdom wasn't easy. Ruling a kingdom that was in complete ruins was even more difficult.

Thorin had always loved a good challenge, especially when he was young. He trained himself until the point he was on the verge of utter physical exhaustion, he read 90% of the books in the royal library (mostly about history), and he always had time for his family and friends. He loved being tested, he enjoyed being on a hunt or just simply in the mines, and he knew most of the royal household by name. His people loved him, and he was sure he would find a way to be a good king one day. (Whenever he had doubts his mother swept them away. She was his guardian angel.)

Now, as he was leaning heavily on his table, staring down at piles of parchments about all the things he yet had to get done, he felt tireder than anytime before.

Elves were waiting for an agreement on the peace process, men were waiting for their gold, dwarves were coming from the Iron Hills and Ered Lúin, Erebor had to be cleaned and rebuilt, and Thorin hadn't had enough help to do it. He would've liked a coronation ceremony as well, to become a true king and not be just someone who claims himself one. He knew it had to wait, for there were more important things in line and he had to take care of them first. He just didn't know how.

"Thorin."

The silent word and the knock on the open door broke the quietness, and Thorin turned around to face Dwalin. His friend held a long parchment in his hand and his expression was filled with concern.

"Ye alright?" he asked, approaching slowly as he eyed his friend. Thorin waved, leaning to the edge of the table with his thighs while he sighed deeply.

"I have been better," the king murmured, his eyes lingering on the floor for a while before looking up at Dwalin. He didn't seem less worried. "I'm just tired. I hope you brought good news."

"Aye," Dwalin said but he kept his eyes on Thorin for a few seconds. Then, he held out the paper in his hand and let the king take it. "We finished looking over the rooms. The left wing had it the worst, but the right one can be used. There are about 150 rooms that can be used."

Thorin skimmed through the parchment, scratching the back of his neck thoughtfully. He liked what he saw. He thought the damage would be much worse than that, and he was relieved they had plenty of space where they could place the dwarves of the Iron Hills and Ered Lúin. It worried him greatly, for the great number of the old residents of Erebor returning was thought to be difficult to place. Now, though, even the air felt clearer in the king's lungs as he realised it was not the case, and he looked up at Dwalin with a satisfied look.

"You did a good job. Anything on the whereabouts of Dáin?"

"They should be here upon tomorrow evening," Dwalin said, taking the parchment from Thorin and reeling it up quickly. "Also... The royal chambers stayed unharmed as well, but we didn't go in there. You might want to do that alone."

Thorin swallowed hard at the mention of his family's rooms, and he nodded slowly. He wasn't sure he would ever be ready to enter the room of his parents or Frerin, to see what they left behind in such a rush. He wasn't even strong enough to enter his own room, he just chose another for himself. He sent in Balin to bring out some of his clothes, though, but that was it. He knew he wouldn't spend much time in his new chamber, only what was necessary for thinking over his strategies.

He took the key that Dwalin held out to him, nevertheless, and placed it in his pocket with a small, bitter smile.

"Thank you, Dwalin."

The warrior nodded slightly, sympathy glimmering in his eyes, and he took a reluctant step back. He left the room without any further comments, and Thorin turned back to his papers, taking a deep breath.

 _I should see those rooms as soon as possible_ , he thought to himself, his eyelids falling closed heavily. _The sooner I look them through, the shorter this pain knots my stomach._

He was so deep in his thoughts that the sudden hands on his eyes started him to his bones, and he straightened in a mere second. His fingers grabbed the wrist tightly, spinning its owner around so the intruder was in front of him, half-lying on the table.

Once he recognised his 'attacker', his grip immediately loosened and his face fell in absolute awe.

"Vanyra?" the king breathed, letting go of the dwarf girl's wrist and taking her in with his eyes. The girl smiled brightly, like she hadn't even felt the violent touch of Thorin, and she laughed out loudly.

"This is how you greet an old friend?" she asked, her voice obviously meant to be reproachful but her eyes told a different story. "Pushing 'em onto your table and nearly killing 'em? You grew rude over the years, Thorin."

"For Mahal's name, just shut up and come here," a grin broke its way through the shock on Thorin's face and he wrapped his arms around the waist of Vanyra, holding her tightly in his embrace. The girl hugged him back, laughing as Thorin picked him up and spinned them around the room. "You have no idea how much I missed you."

"Not enough, apparently, to send a damn raven and ask me to come here," Vanyra answered and hit Thorin in the shoulder so the king would put her down finally. She made a face filled with false resentment, and Thorin just couldn't stop grinning. "I was at Laketown when it started raining dragons, so I was sure you either managed to get yourself killed or... Or yes, it was the only possibility that crossed my mind, actually."

"We sent ravens to Ered Lúin and the Iron Hills. Dáin will be here tomorrow," Thorin said, not at all shocked at the way how Vanyra was greeting him. He would've found it odd if she had spoken elsehow. "Have you met Dwalin? He just left a minute ago."

"Nah," Vanyra shook his head, her smile changing immediately, and Thorin fought back a knowing look. "I waited until he was gone. I wanted to meet him in private."

"Private, huh?" Thorin muttered, hiding his mouth behind his palm, but Vanyra heard him nonetheless and smacked him at the back of his head with an incredulous smile.

"Stop it before you begin!"

"I didn't say anything!" the king laughed. He still couldn't believe that the dwarf girl was standing in front of him, and he felt like a youngster again. He remembered how much time they spent together, just the three of them, and he missed those times more than anything. "You should go and see the lads of Dis, they grew like the mushroom."

"Oh, the lads!" Vanyra's face shone up, clapping excitedly at the mention of Fili and Kili. "They had always been my favourites."

"Make sure to ask them about their love lives," Thorin smiled cunningly, wrapping his arm around Vanyra's shoulder as they started walking out of the room. "You will lose your sanity when you hear about that."

"Don't tell me they had already done _that_?" Vanyra stopped abruptly, staring at Thorin with a face full of shock and the king rolled his eyes, laughing.

"No, for Mahal's sake, Vanyra," he reached after the girl's arm and pulled her closer to continue walking. He stayed silent for a while, thinking it over more thoroughly, then his smile faded ever so sightly. "Although, I cannot kno-"

"Stop it, seven hells Thorin, just stop it!"

The whole corridor was loud with their laughter and bickering afterwards.

  
"I don't understand why we can't hold a feast tonight," Kili moaned, laying on the bed in Vanyra's room, close to Fili. The older prince didn't say a word, just kept staring up at the ceiling with the most heartbroken expression on his face. It was one of his skills, to look like a kicked pup whenever he wanted to.

Vanyra grinned.

"Because your uncle is dull," she turned to look at Thorin with a cunning look, but Thorin just rolled his eyes. "Yes, you are dull, Thorin. You used to be more fun."

"I'm not dull," the dwarf sighed, massaging his temples with the frown of slight irritation on his face. "I just simply accept that Erebor is not yet ready for such celebration. And it won't be for a while."

"You can save yourself however you want, I knew you when you were close to tears whenever your grandfather cancelled a feast," Vanyra turned back to her pack, pulling out her clothes and folding them with care. She threw some of them at the princes, lying on her bed, but they didn't even flinch and it only made her smile wider. They were like two sulking babies, and she loved them like they had been her own. "You wanted to brag with a new fur or a jewel or a bead in your hair, and you didn't get the chance."

"Is she speaking the truth?" Kili raised his head but didn't move to remove the cloth from his face. Vanyra laughed and pulled the drape away, folding it as well. She kept her eyes on the curiously furrowed brows of the younger prince.

"He would never admit it," she whispered, leaning closer to the lads so she was half-lying on the bed as well. "But I recommend you to ask your mother about it, she will have juicy stories for you two."

Kili grinned like a madman, mischief already shining in his deep brown eyes as his glance met Fili's. Vanyra could see Thorin burying his face in his palm, but the king didn't make any remarks. There was no need for them, for everyone knew this topic wasn't particularly his favourite.

"Don't be so happy, boys. Your uncle told me you have extraordinary love lives," Vanyra dropped her bag on the floor so she could sit on the bedstead, her back facing Thorin. Fili and Kili immediately blushed, avoiding everyone else's eyes and focusing on an irrelevant point somewhere on the ceiling. Vanyra smirked. "Who wants to start?"

"Don't push them too hard, Vanyra," Thorin stood from his chair, walking towards Vanyra and placing his hands on her shoulders. "You should know what it's like to be in love after all."

He leaned closer to press a kiss on her cheek, and the dwarf girl let him with a soft smile, leaning into the touch a little. She missed Thorin way too much to tease him about his sudden gentleness. It had always been like he was her brother, a brother she could never have.

He and Dwalin.

  
_"I will teach you how to shoot," Thorin told her on the first day of their meeting, a cheeky grin spread on his face like he was but a mere dwarfling. The prince was actually much older than her or Dwalin, but he rarely acted like that. He was mostly silly, and that's why Vanyra liked him so much. "And Dwalin can teach you how to wield a real mattock! Have you ever seen one?"_

_"She is a girl," Dwalin muttered, eyeing her like she was Morgoth himself. Vanyra only narrowed her eyes at him. "I bet she had never seen an arrow before."_

_Vanyra had always been taught to behave respectfully and never talk back, especially not to a male dwarf who had been older than her. They had never told her not to act, though, so she marched up to Thorin, tearing the bow out of his hand and picking up an arrow from the ground. She shot so swiftly that Dwalin didn't even have the chance to blink, and the arrow bored itself into the tree just a few inches away from his head._

_Both of the dwarves stared at her as she lowered the bow, dropping it onto the ground and looking at Dwalin with a challenging smile._

_"Had I not?"_

_Dwalin just blinked, and he had never once teased her again._

  
Afterwards, they had always spent their time together, whether it was about learning, practicing, or playing. Many of her friends kept asking her if the prince was in love with her and if she was going to be the queen one day, but she just shook her head with a soft smile.

She had never told anyone, but she had her eyes on someone else.

Vanyra, after the attack of Smaug, had been forced to move to the Iron Hills, under the special protection of Dáin. She had rarely seen Thorin, Dwalin even more rarely, and it was something she knew she wouldn't be able to bear for too long. She soon decided to visit Ered Lúin, to see her friends, and she arrived just in time to see Fili born. Dwalin wasn't there so she spent time with Thorin and the babes mostly. A few years later when she returned Kili was born, and she only saw Dwalin for a really short time.

She had wanted to tell him how she felt for such a long time that it started to become a part of her life. Imagining scenarios, dialogues that, with the weeks and months coming by, never came to happen. And it started growing on her more and more heavily with every passing year.

Now that she had the chance, she wouldn't have even known how to talk to him properly.

Vanyra was waken from her thoughts by the lack of Thorin's hands on her shoulders and she looked after him, only to see him backing towards the door. She couldn't believe her best friend was the king now, but she felt pride washing over him and she smiled.

"I have to look through a few rooms. If the lads are done with you, you can join me," he offered with a small nod before disappearing over the corner. Vanyra then turned back to Fili and Kili, the princes staring at her with frightened, wide eyes. She started laughing, shifting closer to them and patting their knees.

"Against all odds, your uncle is really proud of you," Vanyra said, amused by the way the lads' faces turned from scared to absolutely surprised in a fraction of a second. "He has feelings inside of that beating ice cube he carries in his chest."

Fili and Kili started grinning immediately, obviously very well aware of what Vanyra was talking about. Thorin was a sensitive person, and surely, he was demanding sometimes, but that never misled the boys. They saw what lay inside, in that shell that no one was able to see but them. The last remaining members of his family. They loved Thorin like he was their father, so they couldn't be convinced to stay in Ered Lúin when their uncle gathered dwarves for the journey. Both of them stated clearly that they wouldn't let Thorin leave without them, and the king didn't have any other choice. The only one trying to convince them to stay was Dis, but once Thorin swore he would take care of the boys, she gave her blessings as well.

Seeing this family and living with them for so long made Vanyra realise that she was one of them now. And she would be damned if she was about to let that go.

"Was he angry?" Kili asked on a small voice, his cheeks pink in the dim light of the torches and candles all around the room. Vanyra furrowed her brows, confused. "About me and Legolas."

"And about me and Rose," Fili added quickly, earning the same mixed look from the dwarf girl. "I still didn't have the courage to talk to him about it... I guessed he would've been furious."

Vanyra didn't know how the lads had felt in that moment, asking for her reassurance. She had loved the same person for decades, and he was a dwarf so it wasn't a problem. The only problem was her own childish behaviour and shyness that kept her from confessing her feelings. On the day when Smaug came Dwalin was looking for her, and he found her around the ruins of Dale. She was trying to gather the lost children, and once he laid his eyes on her the amount of relief in that dark gaze was truly astonishing. Vanyra wanted to tell him, more than anything, but she knew it wasn't the right time. She regretted it ever since.

So no, she didn't know what Kili and Fili felt. She only knew that hiding her feelings was overwhelming after a certain amount of time, and she would've never wanted the lads to experience that. She came up with the best answer she could think of.

"I am pretty sure he was outraged when he first realised, for we are talking about Thorin here," Vanyra rolled her eyes with a shrug, but she eventually looked back at the youngsters and started smiling gently. "But then, he realised that your happiness is more important than an old conflict or the difference of kins. Believe me, the way he talked about Rose and Legolas, he is fond of them, truly. He is so bad in pretending, I could tell immediately if he was lying."

"Really?" Fili and Kili asked in sync, huge, goofy smiles spread on their faces like two youngsters who got their first beads in their hair.

"Really," Vanyra nodded, ruffling their hair with her hands. They let her, giggling and struggling a little bit, and the girl eventually pulled back her arms with a huge breath. "And now, get out of my sight, this room is still not worthy for a dwarf woman."

"But we want to hear more about uncle!" Fili started moaning when Vanyra stood up. She grinned.

"I'm not going anywhere, we still have plenty of time to gossip about the king. But right now," she grabbed the bedsheet with both of her hands, then jerked it so suddenly that the lads almost tumbled to the floor, "you are occupying my bed!"

Fili and Kili, given that they were skilled warriors, landed on their feet but they still feared the strength of Vanyra. She started chasing them out of her room and they escaped quickly, their laughter echoing through the corridors.

 _Cheeky rascals,_ she thought to herself, moving back to her bed to set the bedsheets right. She still had to do many changes on the room, for Thorin gave her a free hand in altering the decoration and the setting-up for her own liking.

Not even a minute had passed when Vanyra heard hurried steps approaching her door, and she straightened with a soft smile. She stood with her back to the door, not seeing who it was but it wasn't too hard to guess who it might've been.

She turned around slowly.

"My dear lad, you obviously don't know when to sto-"

Half of the sentence faded on her lips, never quite finishing the words, and she stared at the door in awe. It wasn't Fili or Kili, neither was it Thorin.

It was Dwalin. Panting, probably from running, and staring at her with wide eyes, wider than she had ever seen before. His face was unreadable, but she wouldn't have been able to read off the feelings anyway for her mind was completely blank. She could feel her heart beating in her throat, faster and faster with every passing second, and she took a tentative step forwards.

"Oh dear Mahal," she breathed, never removing her eyes from the older dwarf. He was rooted to the doorstep, not moving an inch. "Dwalin-"

"You have been here... for hours now," he spoke lowly, his voice slightly incredulous and full of shock at the same time. Vanyra swallowed hard.

"I wanted to go and see you," she started, looking at him with pleading eyes. She feared he would be angry. She really didn't want that to happen, and now, it seemed luck wasn't by her side. "I just... The lads-"

"I haven't seen you for years, Vanyra," Dwalin interrupted again, more wryly this time. "Don't tell me the lads held you back."

"Look, I don't want to argue, fine?" Vanyra dropped the cloth she had been holding so far to the bed, walking even closer. There still had been a good distance between them, but she could already feel that typical, harsh scent that was so Dwalin that it sent shivers through her body. "I want to tell you something."

"No, you don't tell me anything, I am telling you something," the warrior finally moved, taking a few steps so they were even closer than before. Vanyra laughed shortly, shaking her head with a frustrated sigh.

"You don't understand, it is important," she looked up, an incredulous but anxious smile tugging at her lips. Dwalin was way too stubborn, of course, and she should've expected that, really.

"Cannot be more important than what I want to say."

He was so close already that their hands almost touched when Dwalin abruptly stopped in front of her. Vanyra couldn't even breathe anymore, she just stared up at the older dwarf and was thanking the gods she could stop speaking for now. She would've failed in confessing anything miserably.

Dwalin didn't speak, though, he just slightly parted his lips as he looked deeply into Vanyra's eyes. It was the moment she realised - she realised what the other wanted to say, and the huge smile broke its way through her worried expression at last.

Vanyra had always been taught to behave respectfully, especially in front of a male dwarf who had been older than her.

They had never told her not to act, though.

She grabbed the front of Dwalin's shirt before she could've thought about it twice and sealed those parted lips with her own.

It was a strange feeling, actually. She had been thinking about it for years, imagining how it would feel, what she would do if it actually happened. She had been kissed before, but she thought up this kiss so many times that it started to feel like it was her first one. Countless times she saw Dwalin's face in her mind, right after pulling away, his eyes still closed and lips still pink from meeting hers. It put her to sleep at night, and now that it was happening it awakened every sense in her body.

Dwalin wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer and closer until it was physically impossible and Vanyra let herself. She let herself disappear in those strong arms, she let herself be completely consumed in the play of cold shivers and warm waves of affection, and she only pulled away when both of them were out of air. The sight of Dwalin's face was everything she had ever imagined and Vanyra smiled, more brightly than ever before. She gently caressed Dwalin's face, pulling him closer to lean his forehead against her own, and she caught herself chuckling soon afterwards.

"What are you so happy about?" he asked, his voice low but she could hear the smile in it without seeing.

"I just imagined Thorin's face," Vanyra grinned, and Dwalin's growl only made her laugh even more.

"He has his own burglar to think about," he muttered and soon silenced Vanyra with another kiss.

***

"I think it just talked to me."

"Don't be ridiculous, you haven't even worn it!"

"It doesn't matter, it can still talk to me!"

"Ye just imagined!"

"Don't bother yourselves," Balin interrupted the ever growing whispering of the dwarves around the table, and the said members of the company looked up as if they had been caught in some mischief. They fell silent immediately, and Bilbo smirked. "Our burglar shares important information with us, and you are interrupting him, lads."

"Sorry, Master Hobbit," Glóin bowed his head, still eyeing the ring on the table. It seemed to draw their attention, so most of them weren't even paying attention to the hobbit fully, they just stared at the magic ring.

"It's fine," the hobbit smiled, his face soon falling when he looked back at the ring. He felt an itching on his palm to grab it and hide it from the others, and he felt like something inside him was keeping him from sharing more information on it. Information such as the ring talking to him for days now.

Just like at the moment as well.

"So, you are saying that the ring is talking to you?" Balin asked patiently, seemingly being the only one in the company who still cared more about Bilbo than about the ring. It eased the hobbit only the slightest bit. He nodded.

"It is so strange," Bilbo furrowed his brows, entwining his fingers so he wouldn't reach for the ring. He had the weirdest urge to rush forward, grab it and never show it to anyone again, but he had his common sense still working and it kept him from doing anything stupid. "It draws me closer with every day, and... I am overprotective about it. I don't want anyone to see it. I feel sick to my stomach by only seeing that all of you are staring at it right now."

The dwarves looked up at that, seemingly trying to control themselves, and it automatically made Bilbo smile.

"Had it done anything else to you, laddie?" Balin asked, his voice silent and worried, and Bilbo's smile faded as he looked at the dwarf. The hobbit never liked when there was concern on his wise friend's face, for it usually meant that something bad was approaching. And it always turned out to be true.

Bilbo swallowed hard before answering, not quite sure whether he should've told it or not, but he eventually gathered enough strength and opened his mouth.

"I had some... vivid nightmares," he muttered, shrugging slightly like it wasn't important at all, but once Balin narrowed his eyes, Bilbo's stomach dropped. "It's always the same. I am on the desolation, Erebor and the Lonely Mountain are gone... And the ring talks to me. I put it on, and then I see..."

His voice cracked at that point, the sight of Thorin being dead haunting his mind. He had never been so desperate to forget something, to erase a memory from his mind completely, but he thought death would have more mercy on him than this wretched ring with its nightmares.

"What is it, laddie? What do you see?" Balin shifted closer, placing a hand on Bilbo's shoulder, and the hobbit took a deep breath. He kept his eyes on the ring, seeing his own reflection on its golden curve, and he felt like his whole chest was on fire.

He opened his mouth to answer, but a different voice came from behind his back, and he jumped up from his seat, utterly started.

It was the Elvenking, his face unreadable as always.

"May I have a word with your burglar?" he asked on his usual deep voice, but, despite the fact he was talking to the dwarves, he kept his eyes on Bilbo. The hobbit already had the ring in his hand, holding it tightly behind his back and never letting it go. He didn't trust the Elvenking, and seemingly he wasn't the only one.

"Why would you want to talk to Bilbo?" Glóin stood slowly, his voice dangerously low. Soon many of the dwarves were standing by Bilbo's side, frowning at Thranduil with disdain.

"I do not think that it is any of your business," the elf said as coldly and indifferently as he could, but the look in his eyes told an entirely different story. Bilbo knew if he didn't want war on that very spot he had to act, so he just turned to his friends and gave them a weak but reassuring smile.

"It's absolutely fine, I will be alright," the hobbit nodded, patting Glóin on the shoulder. The dwarf muttered something in khuzdul under his breath as he walked past the Elvenking, frowning at him with so much loathing that it was tangible in the air. Thranduil didn't seem concerned, though, he just sat down on the other side of the table, getting to the same level as Bilbo. The hobbit had no idea what the elf wanted from him, so he just kept silent and never let go of the ring in his hand.

"I know you don't trust me, halfling," Thranduil began, entwining his fingers on the table as he leaned on it, keeping the eye-contact firmly. "I haven't given you a reason to. However, I think it is only fair if I warn you about the great evil you are carrying."

Bilbo swallowed hard, not quite knowing what to say to that, and he started staring at the table instead. He felt foolish for showing around the ring with so little caution - what if the Elvenking wanted to take it from him? He trusted the dwarves and he knew they wouldn't have wanted to cause him such harm, but Thranduil might've still planned to somehow ruin their plans and stop them from rebuilding Erebor wholly. He couldn't let that happen.

"The old dwarf, perhaps called Balin if I am not mistaken knows about this power and about the effect it has on your mind," the Elvenking continued, and Bilbo only grew more and more anxious after every single word. "That ring has tempted many before you, and it caused destruction and wrack that only us, Elves can remember. I lived to see kingdoms rise and fall, and I lived to see some of them becoming mere ruins because of that ring you try to protect so keenly from me.

"You must know it is not me you should protect it from," Bilbo felt Thranduil's gaze becoming so intense on his skin that he felt forced to look up. The warning eyes of the Elvenking made his stomach twist and turn inside his belly. "It is you, burglar. You found it and you used it for the right purposes, but you shouldn't have it at you for any longer."

"Why?" Bilbo asked, his voice small and scared despite of the rage he felt inside. He wanted to shout at Thranduil, to question him why he wanted to take his ring away. But he didn't yell, he didn't insult the king, he just asked this small question and it burned his lips like acid.

"It is the one true ring, Bilbo Baggins," Thranduil answered silently, his voice barely a whisper as he leaned even closer. "It was forged by Sauron. It is poisoning you, filling you with evil. You are a loyal friend to these dwarves, I wouldn't have you become one of the dark ones."

"I don't understand," the hobbit shook his head, shifting back with his chair to regain his private sphere. The ring was whispering to him even now, reacting to everything the Elvenking said and it conflicted him more than anything. "Why would you help me? Why would you care?"

Thranduil fell silent at that, eyeing Bilbo for a while before taking a deep breath and straightening. He seemed so tall all of a sudden that Bilbo had to look up to see his eyes, and he felt a slight wave of admiration washing over him. He looked so different that it shocked the hobbit to his bones.

"The dwarves like to think that I am a monster, but I have always cared for my people. I didn't fight the dragon because I wished to protect my soldiers. I tried to keep Legolas close to me so he wouldn't stray from the right path, so he wouldn't stray from his home. Now he is in love with a dwarf, and what can I do to protect him? To show him that I am still his father?" Thranduil asked, rendering Bilbo absolutely speechless with his cold words. He still didn't show any emotions on his face, but the hobbit could see everything in his eyes and hear everything from his voice. "All I can do is to start looking after you. I am willing to sign that peace pact when the time comes, I am willing to protect the dwarves if I have to, all of this because of my son, because of my kin. So tell me, burglar... Am I a monster? Am I heartless?"

The first thing that crossed the hobbit's mind was how happy Kili was going to be once he heard that Thranduil gave his blessings. He knew it was silly to immediately think about that, but he couldn't help it.

And that was when he realised that he was smiling and the ring stopped whispering. That was when he realised he didn't feel the anger, and his fingers uncurled from around the ring. That was when he raised his hand and placed the ring on the table, letting Thranduil eye it for a while before their eyes met again.

"What should I do?" Bilbo asked, silently but steadily, and there was a glimmer of satisfaction in the Elvenking's eyes. It wasn't mean, it wasn't cunning, it was pure and simple satisfaction with the mix of a smile that tugged at his lips at the same time.

"You must put it somewhere where no one can ever find it again," Thranduil's face suddenly faded into grimness again, making Bilbo's heart skip a beat. "You must hide it, and you must resist its calls. It will whisper to you for a long time afterwards, but you must remain strong, halfling."

"Can't I destroy it?"

"There is only one way to destroy the ring, but that is beyond your powers, hobbit," the Elvenking stood from the table, still looking down at Bilbo with his serious expression. "Hide the ring, and never reveal it again. That is something you, and you alone can do."

He was already halfway through the door when Bilbo jumped to his feet, the ring already in his vest pocket. The hobbit regretted his sudden movement immediately, but it was too late for backing out.

"Is there any chance you have seen Thorin somewhere?" Bilbo yelled after Thranduil, making the Elvenking stop and look back at him in wonder. He immediately felt his cheeks warming up, so he decided to come up with a reasonable explanation quickly. It was hard to speak without stuttering like a wee hobbit lad. "I... I have been looking for him all day, but I still can't find my way in Erebor it seems."

Better than nothing, he thought to himself, and Thranduil only nodded.

"One floor below the corridor where our chambers are placed. That is where you find your king."

 _Your king._ It echoed through Bilbo's head for long minutes after Thranduil had already left the hall, and the halfling caught himself smiling. Finally, the ring stopped speaking and he knew what he had to do.

He felt proud to be a Took in that very moment.

  
Bilbo didn't have to look for very long to find Thorin.

There was only one door opened on the corridor; slightly, though, but Bilbo pointed it out immediately. He approached with his heart beating heavily in his throat.

He didn't know what to expect. He didn't know whose room it was, he didn't know what Thorin was doing inside, he didn't even know why he came. All he felt was a magnetism in his chest, pulling at his limbs and drawing him closer and closer until he was not capable of resistance anymore. He had to realise that maybe, just maybe, this feeling was too deep to simply withstand it. Maybe it was effecting his mind even more than the ring, only in the most confusing way possible. The ring was pure evil, making him see things no living would've wanted to see, but the love he felt contained the most joyous feelings he had ever experienced. Bilbo wanted to embrace it and only keep the good, to lock out the bad.

He found himself at the doorstep sooner than he thought, and he immediately spotted out Thorin. The king stood with his back to the door, staring at something intently on a table, never quite noticing that he had company. Bilbo was a good burglar, light on his feet and small enough so his breathing wasn't audible either, and this ability didn't abandon him this time.

The dwarf king was practically naked as Bilbo took him in with his eyes. A thin linen shirt was all that covered his upper body, providing the hobbit perfect sight at the muscles on his back and at the wide shoulders. Bilbo felt a lump growing in his throat as he walked closer, his gaze sliding lower and lower. Dark trousers, a pair of boots, and Orcrist hanging on his side... The hobbit smiled to himself at that. It seemed like the dwarf was ready for everything. And how right he was.

Bilbo stood there for a while longer, not knowing what to say or how to break the silence. He didn't want to frighten the king who was seemingly deep in his thoughts, reading papers that lay on the table in front of him. From what the hobbit could tell by simply looking around in the room, it used to belong to someone with exceptional carelessness, for clothes, boots and weapons lay everywhere Bilbo turned. On the bed, on the sofa, on the tables and on the chairs, basically everywhere. Most of them were scattered all around the floor, and, from their style and their look, they seemed like royal belongings for the hobbit.

And that is when he realised whose room they had been standing in.

He wasn't quite aware of the sound he made until Thorin turned around violently, his hand already on the hilt of Orcrist. The hobbit stepped back in bewilderment, blinking at the king like he was pointing his sword at his throat, but Thorin did nothing like that. Softness replaced the grim expression on his face, and he pulled back his arm immediately, letting it hung by his side.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, nothing harsh in his voice as he spoke, and Bilbo swallowed hard before tearing his eyes away from Thorin. He suddenly felt really awkward for barging in without knocking first, and he felt his cheeks burning up from the embarassment.

"I... I just saw the door open and... I was passing by..."

He decided he would rather stay silent than stuttering like a kit, and he kept his eyes strictly on the wooden floor. It was covered in a thick layer of dust, only Thorin's footsteps disturbing the smoothness of the frosted surface. Bilbo tried to calm his own heartbeat with every cell in his body, but he failed miserably and he already regretted ever thinking about coming after the dwarf.

Thorin didn't answer for a few moments, but the hobbit could feel his intense look on him. He didn't dare look up, though, so he just waited until the king took a deep breath and finally broke the silence.

"It used to be my room before Smaug came," the dwarf started casually, like he was talking about it to everyone on a daily basis. Bilbo peeked up at him from under his eyelashes, glad to see that the dwarf wasn't looking at him anymore. He had a nostalgic smile on his face, almost bittersweet, and Bilbo knew he was deep in his thoughts. "It's exactly as I last saw it. Untidy, mostly."

They silently laughed at that, their voices filling the sad little room with life after so many years. There were only a couple of candles lighting up the walls, but they were enough to show Bilbo the gentle expression on Thorin's face. They were staring at each other, so it could've been addressed to no one else. It actually planted warmth in Bilbo's body, warmth he missed for so long.

Their laughter slowly faded, and they were left standing there without a word, looking at each other. It felt like they just had a conversation without words, only their eyes communicating, and Bilbo couldn't help smiling somehow. It was a comfortable moment that he never wanted to end, and he knew for sure that Thorin felt the same way.

"My mother's room is the one at the end of this corridor," Thorin said silently, his voice shaking ever so slightly at the word 'mother'. Bilbo's heart started aching immediately. "Next to that, there is my brother's, and then there's my sister's. Knowing that this corridor is never going to be the same again, doesn't matter how quickly we rebuild Erebor... It pains me, Bilbo. Do you know what I am talking about?"

 _Yes, I know exactly,_ Bilbo wanted to say, but his throat was too tight for words. _My parents are dead as well. I had to bury them, I had no siblings to help me. I had to clean their rooms after they died, I had to pack their belongings, I had to put away their clothes, knowing they would never wear them again. My best friend wasn't there to help me. I had no one but my parents, and then, they had been gone. Yes, I know exactly._

He wanted to tell all of these things, he wanted to give an answer that was worthy of how Thorin opened up back in Beorn's Hall. Instead, all he was capable of was a nod and taking a few steps closer to the king.

"I'm sorry, Thorin," he muttered finally, his voice barely a whisper. Thorin kept looking at him with those unreadable, crystalline eyes that Bilbo was so fond of, and they stood so close already that they all but shared the same breath. The king broke the melancholic silence after a long pause, a small smile spreading across his face. It only drew Bilbo's eyes to his lips, and the hobbit couldn't look away afterwards.

"I am happy Fili and Kili will be here to give back Erebor's old bouncing atmosphere," the dwarf sighed, moving his eyes around the room without actually moving farther away from Bilbo. "I was slightly worried about that. Also, have you met Vanyra? I will have to introd-"

Thorin was cut off halfway in his sentence in the most unusual way once he turned his head back to Bilbo. Even his eyes remained open for a moment, not quite digesting what was happening. Bilbo was kissing him, effortlessly and simply by holding onto his forearms. Thorin's eyes fell closed a bit too late, for the hobbit already pulled away, and the king looked at him with absolute awe.

The hobbit's cheeks were all but glowing in pink, his eyes frantically moving around, carefully avoiding Thorin's, and the king started smiling gently.

"Bilbo..."

"You don't... have to say anything," the halfling stuttered, anxiously eyeballing a spot on Thorin's chest. It only made the dwarf smile wider. "I just... I don't know what was I thinking."

"Bilbo," Thorin tried again, but was answered with a quick shake of head.

"I can apologise if you wish, really. It was stupid from me. I-"

"Bilbo, look at me."

The hobbit had never felt more awkward in his whole life. He had not the faintest idea on what had gotten into him, kissing the king just like that, and he knew it was a terrible mistake. He didn't intend on obeying, obviously, and he already wanted to take a few steps back and, if the time seemed fitting, preparing to be ready for a run back to his room, when the king gently touched his jaw and raised his head. Their eyes met, and the smile on Thorin's face was something Bilbo could've never even dreamed about being on the receiving end of. His lips slightly parted as he stared at the king, and he soon caught himself holding onto Thorin's hand, entwining their fingers with his shaking one.

He could barely hear his own thoughts from his heartbeat, but there was no need for that. The king didn't say anything, he just leaned forward and kissed him again, not just a peck of the lips, but a real kiss this time.

And Bilbo let himself gladly.

There was no rejection, no short circuit, only need and love radiating from the both of them. Bilbo clung to Thorin so desperately like he needed to feel the dwarf's lips on his own more than how he needed air, and Thorin hadn't been any different. His fingers were lost in his burglar's hair, holding him so close that there was not an inch of space between their bodies. Thorin coaxed the hobbit's mouth open with his tounge, tasting every bit of the halfling and breathing into the kiss softly. He would've never thought he needed this so badly, not until he was there and kissing Bilbo with everything he had.

Then, he realised how much he actually longed for it, and he smiled into the kiss.

There wasn't anything better than feeling Bilbo smiling back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter took me 5 days to finish, but I think this is the longest one so far. I don't really know. All I know that it's full of fluff and happy feelings, kisses and love, everything we need before jumping into the pit of destruction.
> 
> I would like to thank everyone who wrote reviews and gave kudos, you are truly wonderful, guys. I hope you liked this chapter just as much as I enjoyed writing it! :3


	15. Love And Loss

In spite of never living in Erebor before, Fili immediately felt like he was at home.

The prince had his own room for the very first time in his entire life. He was born in Ered Lúin, a huge mountain with small houses in its base. He remembered it the way it had always looked during the autumns: ground covered in crimson leaves with small, naked trees everywhere. The houses were built in haste, the mines were raw and lying by, still, Fili loved Ered Lúin more than he had ever imagined he could love Erebor. All he heard when his uncle came over and they ate together around the small table by the even smaller fire that Erebor was a real palace, that it held warmth that these 'wretched mountains' could never give, that the ancient kingdom under the Lonely Mountain was heaven itself in the face of Ered Lúin. Fili wanted to shout at him and argue, not once, but he kept his mouth. He ate in silence, then went to bath Kili.

He had his heart aching for the small tumble-down cottages once the journey for Erebor began, but he knew this place wasn't going anywhere. Not everyone was in such health that they could've taken the long trip between Erebor and the western part of Eriador. Ered Lúin would not disappear, and it eased his heart greatly.

Now that they reclaimed Erebor and long weeks passed since they first set their feet in the famed kingdom, Fili realised that it wasn't the location itself that made Ered Lúin so special for him. He considered those mountains his true home not because of the crimson leaves, but because of Kili and Thorin. His mother. The sense of home never left during the journey, and it found its place in Erebor as easily as it did back in the Blue Mountains. It filled him with utter joy, and he didn't even realise how quickly the time passed by.

The heir of the King under the Mountain spent his days mostly with helping in the restorations. The dwarves of the Iron Hills, and with them his mother, Dís had arrived weeks before, and the process of the reparation had dictated a good pace ever since. Thorin told both him and Kili that they didn't have to take part in the work, but the princes objected.

"A little bit of working can't hurt us," Kili claimed with his feet on the table, but at his mother's frown he quickly removed them and smiled like an angel. Fili just rolled his eyes with his lips curling up slightly at the corners. "We can finish sooner then."

"Well, I am not afraid of that," Dís noted with a knowing look, and Thorin had to fight back a laugh, sitting in the corner and playing with an apple in his hand. "You haven't worked a second in your entire life, what makes you think you will be able to help the poor dwarves of Dáin, hm?"

Both of them straightened at that immediately, their faces almost insulted at their mother's words. Thorin did laugh this time, hiding behind his palm.

"Just wait and see, mother!" Fili raised his voice, hammering away at his chest. Kili followed him closely, both standing up and walking around the room like two great warriors with their chins pointing at the sky. Dís and Thorin laughed in sync now, and the brothers soon joined them as well.

Fili would've never admitted it, though, that his mother was right all along. The first day at work seemed easy at first, and they went at it with huge enthusiasm. They moved huge pieces of logs and stones, and they seemed pretty helpful for the other dwarves who were significantly shorter and crabbier than the ones Fili and Kili had been used to. Gradually, however, they both grew tired and worn out, and by noon they wished they had never offered their help at all.

"Getting sleepy there, lads?" Dáin approached them once, wiping his forehead with his arm. He had a huge grin on his face, and he eyed the broken princes cunningly, leaning heavily on his huge mattock. Kili and Fili were sitting on the short staircase that led to the treasure room's corridor, and they were awfully silent while trying to catch their breaths. "Thorin told me you would give up soon, but he also told me not to let you."

The brothers moaned at the same time, staring up at Dáin like two pleading puppies that didn't want to take a bath, but it didn't soften the warrior. He gave them a new job, and the princes soon realised there was no way out. They kept working, nevertheless, and took their well-deserved rest on the evenings.

There were no feasts until Erebor was back in its old pomp, Thorin stated countless times. It meant no huge dinners, obviously, so, after working so hard, their whole bodies were sore and aching. They usually spent their time in their rooms: Fili with Rose and Kili with Legolas. Fili was happy to hear about Thranduil's blessings, as well as his uncle's, and to see Kili spending time with Legolas without having to fear being caught filled Fili with joy. All he had ever wanted was for Kili to be happy, and his little brother got that now.

Not like Fili himself had any reason to complain.

Bramblerose Bramble from Nobottle was the best thing that had ever happened to Fili in his short life so far. He fell so fast and so hard like a comet, and he didn't know how to stop. He already accepted that he might never stop falling, actually, for the feeling was more and more intense with every day. At first he was a little bit afraid that they were moving too fast, for he had already braided her hair after a week. But, then again, it never seemed to be a problem and he was really sure on what he was doing when he asked for Bilbo's blessing.

He was all over the moon when Bilbo gave it.

It felt strange to have Rose as his beloved without really kissing or holding her even once. He had seen how Kili was after receiving his first kiss from Legolas, and he ached to experience the same feeling, but somehow it had never been appropriate. He was waiting for the right time, a private moment where it was only the two of them, when they didn't have to be afraid of a dragon roasting them. They held hands, but it was the furthest they had ever gone.

They were living in Erebor for a month when Fili thought it was time to make a move. And not towards Rose.

Towards Thorin.

The king was barely around the great halls and could be rarely caught by anyone. He spent his time around the mountain, in the mines or with Bilbo, and Fili was greatly happy about that. It started to annoy the whole company that they were beating about the bush seemingly without end, while it was painfully obvious how they felt for each other. Seeing them together and close would've filled Fili with joy, had he seen them only once in the last days. He hadn't, though, and no one else had either.

He had to hunt for his uncle for days until his steps took him to the last place he would've guessed Thorin was: the treasure room. The piles of golden coins and jewels were in order again, just as they must have been once, and the dwarf king was walking amongst the walls of riches aimlessly. Fili was happy that they were alone, and he caught up with Thorin with a few long steps.

The king smiled down at him fondly, but there was something in his eyes that disturbed the prince. He tried to ignore it, though, and he cleared his throat.

"You do know it's hard to find you lately, uncle?" the prince asked, but Thorin simply kept smiling and let his eyes feast on the treasure again. "I wanted to talk to you for days now."

"Do tell, then," the king sighed, taking the closest turn and walking towards the greatest gold piles of all. Fili was caught speechless for a while, his jaw hanging as he eyed the riches as well, but he soon remembered the main reason he came for.

"It is about Rose," Fili started on the most diplomatic tone he ever had to use, and it rendered the king motionless in a second. They stood facing each other, Fili's eyes never wandering from the unreadable expression on Thorin's face. There definitely was something off about him that the prince couldn't put his finger on, but he guessed it might've been for an absolutely simple reason, like a small fight with Bilbo. He convinced himself not to bother, and took a deep breath once again instead. "I am sure it didn't miss your attention that I am fond of her."

"No, it didn't," Thorin crossed his arms in front of his chest, something strange radiating from him that Fili could identify as being amused. "But I was told it wasn't simple fondness."

Fili's eyes widened, staring at his uncle like he just announced that he was about to marry the Elvenking Thranduil.

"By whom?" he asked incredulously, earning a small grin from Thorin.

"By Rose."

The prince swallowed hard and felt his whole body lighting up. He was sure he looked like a red poppy, but it only grew the amount of amusement on his uncle's face. Fili wanted to yell at him for looking so satisfied, but he couldn't utter a simple word.

"I had also heard you already have half of the blessings that you need to propose," Thorin continued unabashedly, and Fili wished the ground would've opened underneath him. Even the endless, cold mines of Erebor would've been better than standing in front of his uncle who seemingly absolutely enjoyed making him uncomfortable. He was happy there was no one else around them in the treasure room to see his humiliation. "May I ask one simple question now, Fili?"

"A-Anything, uncle," Fili muttered, his voice barely a whisper as he tried to speak the words, and he kept his eyes on Thorin's chest.

"Do I look like a merciless monster who eats young dwarflings for breakfast and is finding his joy in ruining his sister-sons' lives?"

The question caught Fili completely off-guard and he stared up at Thorin with wide eyes. The smile was honest and loving on Thorin's face, an expression Fili had seen only rarely, and it drew a similiarly happy gesture from him as well.

"No?" he asked, this one word almost fading into a hopeful laughter, but he could restrain himself in the last moment.

"I might have told you a couple of horror stories when you were wee kits with Kili, but you are grown men now, and I don't need to scare you to bed with these nurse tales," Thorin put a firm hand on Fili's shoulder, squeezing it lightly. "I have no right to tell who you should love. I gave my blessings for Kili and Legolas, so I give it to you and Rose as well."

The feeling that washed over Fili was simply undescribable. He imagined this moment countless times before, in more than a hundred ways how it could play out, but he never once thought it would go so easily. He let out a quite not princely sound that echoed through the treasure hall and was closely followed by the hearty laugh of his uncle. Fili considered jumping into Thorin's arms from the happiness that quickened his heart unimaginably, but his need to share the news with Rose was bigger than anything else.

He was running out of the room while yelling back a 'thank you', heading towards his room where he knew Rose was right now. He ran past Kili and Legolas, Glóin and Dwalin, maybe even his own mother before he reached the open door and stopped abruptly at the doorstep. He was battling for breath as he laid eyes on Rose, the hobbit girl sleeping soundly on the bed, and Fili was relieved he didn't wake her.

She told him about how hard it was to adjust, to find her place amongst the dwarves and feel like at home again. She hadn't had a home since her uncle in Bree died and she was forced to move out of the small house - she was on the road ever since, and, although she enjoyed the adventurous life she led, it was nothing like going home at the end of the day, to have your loved ones around you. It was completely unusual for her to sleep by Fili's side every night, to wake up to a breakfast in bed or to have her best friend around every day. She spent her time with Dís and Vanyra during the day while Fili and Kili were working on the restorations, but she often grew tired and went to sleep a little.

For Fili, it only meant she felt like at home, and it warmed his heart way more than he had ever imagined it would. Rose was his first love, and he wanted her to never leave his side again. The fact that she considered Erebor home only brought the prince to the conclusion that he was one more step closer to that wish being fulfilled.

He approached the girl slowly, trying to stay as silent as possible. Her face was blissful, one of her hands resting on her belly while her other arm was tugged under her head as a pillow. The braid that Fili made for her was lying still on her shoulder, and the prince smiled, carefully kneeling by the side of the bed to face her.

She was so close that Fili could feel her breath on his skin, and he gently stroked her cheek with a soft smile. She was warm and apparently dreaming about something that made her smile a tiny bit. Fili's heart fluttered in his chest as he touched the braid, running his finger on its delicate curve until he reached the beam. Kili made that beam for him as his coming-of-age present, and Fili would've never given it to anyone without his younger brother's permission. Kili allowed it, though, and Fili knew he had a good lot to thank his brother for in the future.

Fili didn't know how to wake her. He didn't really want to do it, but, then again, whenever he thought of the conversation he just had with his uncle, his whole body was on fire and he knew he wouldn't be able it keep it back. He had to wake her, but it had to be special.

And what could've been more special than a first kiss?

The prince leaned forward so slowly that he doubted he even moved at all, but once his lips brushed Rose's, his eyes fell closed and he breathed in. Her scent was worthy of her name: she smelled like spring, flowers and sweet fruits, green trees and grass, fresh water and wind. It was everything that Fili had always known, and now he was kissing this girl that consisted of all of these, this girl who completely enchanted him.

He didn't even realise the lips under his were parting softly, that an arm was snaking around his neck and pulling him even closer. He had not the faintest idea that a kiss could feel so perfect, that it could feel so right. Yet, here he was, tasting every bit of his hobbit girl with his tounge so delicately that his whole body was shaking from it, and he soon noticed that his hands were long lost in the abundance of the dark, curly locks of Rose. He longed to do this for so long that it felt like forever, and now that it was happening it seemed like the whole world was standing in one place around them.

And it was the happiest moment in his life.

They pulled away after long minutes, completely out of breath and dazed, and they stared at each other with huge, shining eyes. For a moment Fili completely forgot why he was there in the first place, but once he remembered, a hopeful smile spread on his lips.

"Uncle gave his blessings," he whispered, watching closely the mixture of shock and utter joy in Rose's eyes, and his smile widened. "He gave his blessings."

The longer he kept repeating it the more unbelievable it sounded, and he only realised it was reality when Rose was kissing him again, her face covered in tears. This kiss was more passionate, full of emotions and absolutely out of control, a kiss that none of them could hold back. Her hands were everywhere in Fili's hair, pulling him impossibly close until there wasn't an inch of space between them. Both of them were sitting on the bed now, Rose climbing into Fili's lap absentmindedly and pressing their bodies together. A happy sob broke its way through the battle of their lips, and Rose, once she pulled away, started laughing softly. She was crying, and Fili himself was close to doing that as well.

He cupped her face in both hands, moving her head so she would look at him, and he stared deeply into those crystalline eyes. His thumb gently caressed her tear streaked cheek, and he breathed in and out deeply.

"Marry me," he said, his voice barely a whisper, and he felt his heart hammering in his throat. He didn't care about ancient customs, he didn't care about manners. He did what he felt right, and held Rose close to him still. "Marry me, for I never wish to let you go, Rose. I love you more than I love anything in this world, and I want to make you happy. For your whole life."

New tears started welling in her eyes as she kept looking at the prince, then they rolled down her cheeks, only to fall on the dark green vest of his. He saw how she struggled to say even a word, and fear already started to take over him, as well as regret for ever opening his mouth, when she finally gathered enough strength to answer.

She had the most beautiful smile on her face he had ever seen.

"You are already making me happy, you fool," she whispered, leaning her forehead against Fili's and closing her eyes. She laughed, her voice full with the yet unshed tears of happiness, and the prince smiled brightly, holding her close by her waist.

"Is that a yes, then?"

Rose laughed again, pressing against Fili then opening her eyes and nodding gently.

"A thousand times, yes."

And, for that brief moment, Fili was the happiest dwarf in the history of Arda.

***

Legolas was fond of summer evenings.

Wood-elves had been the children of the forests with unimaginable love for nature. Legolas wasn't any different. Once upon a time when Mirkwood was Greenwood and it was safe to walk the woods both alone and in company, Legolas spent quite a lot of time with climbing trees and spending long nights there with Tauriel. She would often read to him about the great wars of Middle-Earth, and, although he would've never admitted it, sometimes he longed for some romance and knightly love instead. He was an elf, after all, and hearing about blood and destruction all the time was often causing him unpleasant moments. Tauriel, however, cared for being a warrior more than about being a lover, therefore, it was absolutely out of the question for Legolas to ask for a change of topic. They had fun together, and it seemed his father wasn't against it either. Thranduil had never liked to know absolutely nothing about his son's whereabout, but while he was with Tauriel, he knew that no harm could come to the prince.

Greenwood soon turned into Mirkwood, though, and these nights ended. Spiders and other nasty creatures filled the forest, making it impossible to gaze at the bright stars at midnight. Elves didn't require sleep in the classic meaning of the term: they relaxed by admiring the wonders of nature, the beauty of Arda, and darkness had taken this chance from them. Orcs wandered farther than they were allowed to, and the southern part of the forest was under their hands. It angered both Legolas and his father greatly, but until they seemed to stay mostly on the Brown Lands, they didn't plan fighting them back.

Those were sad days of sad weeks of sad months and even more striking decades while they were forced to stay in their rooms on the late hours. No warm winds caressed their faces, no songs were sung, no stars were gazed at. In that moment, though, on the great balcony of Erebor, looking up at the night sky and having Kili's soft fingers in his hand, Legolas felt peaceful again. They didn't need to talk, for they stood in comfortable silence and just enjoyed the moment.

It was the best late night activity Legolas could think of, and he was grateful to Kili for allowing this small private moment for them. The elf knew the prince was tired after the long restoration work he had been doing for two weeks now, but he had had enough of sitting underground all day long.

It was the furthest they could go, for they were surrounded by desolation. Nevertheless, it was still perfect, and Legolas smiled up at the stars.

"I still can't believe your father gave his blessings," Kili broke the silence, his voice calm and soothing. Legolas didn't turn to him, only smiled.

"He had a change of heart I could've never possibly foreboded," he sighed, slowly drawing circles on the top of Kili's hand. The dwarf had so small fingers and hands that it never ceased to amaze Legolas, and he couldn't stop touching him. Kili had never seemed to mind, though, so it was all well. "But, then again, elves are helping the dwarves in the restoration, and I could've never imagined that happening either."

Kili laughed softly, staring down at the blackened wasteland aimlessly. Legolas had a lopsided smile on his face, eyeing the young dwarf carefully. He seemed so young sometimes, even younger than the age he was, and it touched Legolas with warmth. He was alive for longer than most of the creatures on Arda and he had seen so many evil in this world that looking at this dwarf in that moment was definitely something unearthly wonderful. Kili was pure, unlike so many others who claimed to be, and it attracted Legolas even more.

"Do you think it will last this time?" Kili asked softly. He turned his head to look up at Legolas, but the elf knelt in front of him immediately. Legolas could already learn how proud dwarves were if it came to their height, and they would've bitten off their own tongue first had it come to asking the elves to lower down a bit. There was confusion on Legolas' face, but he didn't have to say a word - Kili started explaining with a deep breath. "The peace. It almost feels like it went too smoothly. Bard killed the dragon, your father accepted the terms of peace, uncle gave his blessings to both Fili and me... It seems too good to be true."

Legolas felt a fatherly smile tugging at his lips, and he gently cupped Kili's face with one hand. The dwarf closed his eyes for a few moments, leaning into the touch with need.

"As long as I am next to you, you have no reason to be afraid, Kili," he said, his voice barely a whisper as he leaned closer. Kili slowly opened his eyes at the words, some worry still lingering in his eyes but not as much as before. "Good things do happen, and sometimes they remain. You must not bother yourself with the unknown future, for the essence of life lies in today. You should hold onto that."

As an immediate reaction to the meaning of those words, Kili raised his hand to entwine his fingers with Legolas' and squeezed them tightly. A huge smile broke its way through the fond expression on the elf's face and he leaned even closer, touching his forehead against Kili's. He felt the dwarf's smile, and he knew his words achieved what he meant with them.

The moment lasted for long minutes when it was interrupted by a subtle cough, and Legolas looked up. He felt his father's presence approaching for a while now, but he knew they hadn't been doing anything wrong why the Elvenking would be furious about. Kili turned his glance too, blinking at Thranduil once and then twice before the elf spoke silently.

"I am sorry for the disturbance, but I must speak with Legolas."

His voice didn't hold coldness or disdain, but, then again, Thranduil's usual tone had always been unfathomable. He was a puzzle that even Legolas found extremely hard to solve sometimes, let alone the dwarves. Kili pulled away with a slight nod and watched Legolas straightening, sending him one last small smile before leaving.

Legolas knew where to find him after he heard what his father had to say. The promise was almost tangible in the air.

Once Kili left, Thranduil walked up to the parapet next to Legolas. It was awfully small for both elves, for everything in Erebor was built in conformity with the dwarves. The beds were just right in size, but it was difficult to place themselves at the table or walking down the stairs. The parapet barely reached their lower abdomen, and one stronger push from behind would've been enough for them to fall over and die on the sharp cliffs underneath.

For the elves' luck, no dwarf would've loved to see them die right now.

"Why did you wish to talk to me, father?" Legolas asked, once again staring up at the sky and feasting his eyes on the sight of those bright stars. The creations of the Valar were breathtaking, and elves especially found great joy in admiring them. Legolas hadn't been an exception.

Thranduil sighed deeply, following Legolas and looking at the stars, however, with less impression on his face. He had been studying the stars for over six thousand years now, never once removing his eyes from the sky. He knew the constellations, he was familiar with the names of every star, and Legolas had always admired his knowledge.

"The darkness is regaining its power as we speak," the Elvenking started on a voice low and ill-omened. Legolas immediately tore his eyes from the sky, turning to his father with confusion written all over his face. "Any day now, there could be war. Thousands will be slaughtered, and the evil will only grow stronger."

"Do you feel something, father?" Legolas asked, facing Thranduil with his whole body now. A knot started spreading in his stomach, uncomfortably twisting it and poisoning his high-spirits. He just reassured Kili about the ongoing peace, and now it all seemed to fall apart. The warm winds became cool all too soon, and they pierced his skin, blew his hair behind his shoulders.

He suddenly felt an itch to reach for his bow, but he restrained himself.

"I have lived through many wars, Legolas," Thranduil looked at him slowly, something rigid burning in his eyes that made the young elf swallow hard. "I can see it in the people's eyes. They fear it for they suspect its coming. They can understand the signs, and they are scared of bloodshed. I have always tried to protect you, but now I am afraid I might not be there when you need me."

"Father," Legolas breathed, stepping closer absentmindedly. He had never liked when the Elvenking used this tone, trying to hide his concern and keep his cold composure at the same time. Legolas saw through it, and he knew this danger Thranduil was talking about wasn't to be underestimated.

"I am leaving tomorrow," the king turned to Legolas at last, looking down at his son with eyes holding unusual emotions that caught the young elf off-guard. "I suppose you do not wish to join me, and I would not order you to do so. I have already made enough harm as it is."

Legolas' eyes widened, immediately understanding what his father was implying to.

That evening in the throne room in Mirkwood. That conversation full of fury. That slap. He remembered all of it vividly, the violent touch on his face still burning his skin as he recalled it.

The elf shuddered. He was trying to convince himself that he deserved it, that it was rightful and he earned it, but he couldn't. For whenever he looked at Kili, he saw the reason behind his actions and he couldn't find it in himself to regret what he had done. He had tried to make his father understand, but it was useless and painful. Thranduil was cold and distant, like he hadn't even been his father anymore, and Legolas slowly grew to believe he lost him completely.

It was the very first moment since that fateful day that Thranduil showed real emotions and regret for his actions, and Legolas' heart quickened at the sight.

"Your mother... She would have had my head for raising a hand at you," a ghost of a smile appeared on Thranduil's lips. It was almost sad, mixed with bittersweet nostalgia around the corners. "She would be really proud. And I would like you to know that I am proud of you as well, Legolas. Despite everything that happened, I could not wish for a more worthy heir than you."

 _Or a more worthy son_ , it lingered in the air between them, unspoken yet so present that Legolas could've almost touched it. Thranduil slowly put a hand on Legolas' shoulder, staring deeply into those blue eyes that were filled with utter awe and emotion in that moment.

"I do believe you won't forget where your home lies," the Elvenking squeezed his son's shoulder then let go, stepping back ever so slightly to give Legolas his private sphere. "For I know now where your heart does."

"Are you..." The elf prince's voice broke as soon as he tried to speak, but he knew he had to keep himself together in front of his father. He quickly cleared his throat to gain a few seconds for himself, then opened his mouth to speak again. "Are you sure it is wise for me to stay away from home if darkness is really that strong? Will you be fine, father?"

Thranduil smiled, a gesture barely visible but indeed curling his lips up, and he pulled his long cloak around him more closely. Legolas saw he was already ready for the night, and he could tell immediately that dawn it was when the Elvenking planned to leave. It somehow made him even more uncomfortable in his skin.

"I am not worried for myself. I am worried for the King under the Mountain who proved to be generous and so different from his father and grandfather, and who now seems to be poisoned by the very same sickness," Thranduil said, his voice cold and low again, all the warmth gone. Legolas furrowed his eyebrows, confusion creasing them greatly. He knew of the golden sickness that infected Thrór and eventually led to the fall of Erebor when Smaug chose to come. He knew the power of gold, and he knew the dangers that lay between those walls, especially one ring that seemed to draw evil even closer. He knew about all of it, but he had seen no sign, unlike his father. "The mind is a fragile toy we must be very careful with. It creates the greatest things people have yet to see, but it is often way too open for the malice that thrives upon destroying. Watch out for the dwarf king, for his decisions might be already corrupted. He might bring calamity upon his kingdom very soon."

Legolas fell silent, eyeing his father for a few more seconds before nodding slightly. Hearing Thranduil talking about bad omens, he wasn't blinded by the pure joy of love anymore and he could already see what the Elvenking was talking about. It frightened him, but he hoped he still had time to change the ways of fate.

"I will," he whispered, earning one more deep look from his father before he stepped aside and left the balcony.

It started out as a warm night, the stars shining brightly and covering the Lonely Mountain in their silver light.

It ended with cold winds, dark clouds and unsettled hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it is a shorter chapter but I still find it important. The love lingers on and Thranduil turns out to be less of an arse than what I tried to make him look like, so I am pretty satisfied with all of this.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it, and thank you for the comments and kudos once again! You are wonderful, guys, but I always keep repeating that. :')


	16. Bad Before The Worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mild physical violence and angst. A lot of angst.

It was way over midnight when Thorin returned to his room.

Bilbo was lying on his side, his back facing the door. He pretended to be asleep, but he had his eyes open. Not like Thorin cared about it anyway. The hobbit could hear the king unclothing, his shirt and trousers landing on the floor. Countless gold coins tinkled when they hit the ground, slipping all over the room, even under the bed. The chamber floor was covered in gold, the dwarf always bringing some down from the treasure room. He never cared about them once he brought them with him, he just liked to have his most beloved belongings around him at all times.

Bilbo felt the lump growing in his throat as Thorin lay next to him, never touching him once. It was the same every night. Bilbo would wait for him without a blink of sleep, the hours stretching longer and longer with every day, and the hobbit just couldn't find a way to relax. Not while he knew what Thorin was doing in the meantime. It tried the hobbit so much that he never really left the room anymore, and by the fifth week after reclaiming Erebor, he barely ate. He didn't want anyone to see what state he lingered in, so he avoided talking to anyone besides Thorin.

Well, when the king wanted to speak to him at all.

He wished he could've shared his fears with someone, but it wasn't that simple and he knew it. He saw how greedy Thorin grew, and many other dwarves fell under the treasure's spell as well. It was called the golden sickness, the same infection that poisoned Thrór's mind, the very plague that Thorin feared so much when he was still himself. Bilbo kept himself sane with those memories, long nights spent together, just talking and gentle touches, nothing else. There was an entirely different reason why he stayed awake all night, and he was filled with absolutely different emotions back then. He felt loved and safe, but now, none of them was washing over him as he looked at Thorin. All he saw was an old, untreatable, rapacious dwarf who loved nothing but his treasures.

It slowly numbed Bilbo, made him think of actions he must've taken but he had never had the courage to. Speaking was useless, words didn't mean anything for the king. Bilbo needed to act, he just didn't know how.

On that night, though, this agony was about to end. Bilbo was sure of that.

It didn't take long for the King under the Mountain to fall asleep, as far from Bilbo as possible. He always slept with his back to the hobbit, never once touching him during the night. He was holding a couple of coins in his hand, his fingers curling around them protectively. Bilbo's stomach turned at the sight, and he kept sitting there for a few moments, simply watching the dwarf's shoulders rise and fall. He ached for him more than he thought it was possible to bear, and he decided not to waste any more time. He simply hoped it would truly work at the end.

He slipped out of the bed and sneaked out of the room without making a sound.

Even though he was allowed to move around Erebor without the magic ring, for he wasn't an intruder and he was beloved by the king, he still felt the pang of absence now that he didn't have the trinket. He was sure to fulfill the advice of Thranduil - he got rid of it as soon as it was possible. The ring was forged into a huge mattock, and the mattock was dropped into the endless mines of Erebor where no one would ever find it. It indeed called Bilbo a few times afterwards, but it was easier to resist, and he knew he was bound to. Nevertheless, it would've been easier if he could've just put it on and avoided the curious gazes of the guards.

"Left my gown in the kitchens," he shrugged with a perfect false-smile, laughing awkwardly when the dwarves shook their head resignedly. They liked Bilbo, so it wasn't hard to stay guileless and invisible.

The main hall of Erebor where the throne was stretching high was guarded only from the outside, its entrances carefully watched. Bilbo knew it was still pretty risky to get close to the throne, but he had no choice. He was ready to sacrifice himself for the cause, but he would've liked it better if he hadn't had to. After all, he was doing all this so he could get back the dwarf he loved so much. He would've liked to see him once more before dying or being cast into the dungeons.

He approached the throne slowly, keeping his eyes strictly on the Arkenstone. It was shining brightly above the throne, filling the whole room with light, and Bilbo swallowed hard. He knew it was the cause of the sickness, and he knew the only way to stop it was taking it away so it would bring no more harm. He knew what was the right thing, but he also knew what it would entail.

 _It cannot bring more misery than it does now,_ he thought to himself as he stepped on the stairs, reaching after the Arkenstone with shaking hands. He remembered finding it, he remembered how happy he was when he recognised it and decided to give it to Thorin. Not like it was a question whether he should hand it over or not, but still. The joy in Thorin's eyes when he first held it in his hands, it was something utterly fantastic to see, and now he was about to take that joy from him.

Then again, it wasn't joy anymore. Bilbo knew that Thorin, the real Thorin was suffering somewhere underneath, and if it was the price to pay to set him free, then Bilbo would do it gladly.

He picked it out of its case and, as casually as he could, started walking back to his room.

Bilbo wasn't entirely sure where to hide it. He knew Thorin was only in their room while he was sleeping, so it was a safe place to find a shelter for the stone. Then again, he had to think about the least suspicious place where he could keep it.

Once he entered the room, he already knew the answer. He kept it carefully under his nightgown while he approached the bed, and when he walked around it to his own side, he pulled the Arkenstone out. It casted such a bright light that he had to be swift with picking his pillow up and finding that hole in its side where the feathers always fell out whenever he made the bed in the mornings. He tucked the Arkenstone deep inside the pillow, then pulled the covers closer around it and slipped into the bed again.

He didn't know how long he'd been lying there, flat on his back without moving anywhere, trying to soothe his heartbeat. He couldn't believe that he succeeded, and he also couldn't believe that he felt absolutely no joy afterwards. He realised he wasn't happy to do this, and all he felt was pain that he had to go to such extremes. He came to steal from the dragon, not from his love. And yet, here he was.

Bilbo was so deep in his thoughts that he didn't even notice Thorin shifting next to him, turning to his other side and wrapping his arm around the hobbit's waist. In the next second he was already lying right next to the burglar, hugging him tightly and burying his face in Bilbo's neck. The halfling's heartbeat suddenly quickened, and he gently reached for Thorin's neck to wrap his arm around it. His lungs were filled with the scent of iron and some flowery oil that the king must've picked up while bathing, and the hobbit could feel his tears piercing his eyes.

Thorin's whole body was curled around him, and all he could do was to hold him tightly in his arms while the dwarf breathed in and out in his neck.

"Are you awake?" Bilbo whispered, his voice trembling like he was about to break down at any moment. Thorin didn't notice, luckily.

"Why?" he murmured, planting a soft kiss on Bilbo's skin that made the halfling shudder. Then, he pulled his head back and stroked the honey coloured, curly locks from the hobbit's forehead with a gentle smile.

"Just wanted to know," Bilbo turned to look at him, slightly afraid of what he was about to see, but he was completely caught off-guard by the sight. Thorin looked like always: smiling with fondness, his eyes filled with warmth and love.

It was extremely hard to hold back the tears now.

"Have you thought about the question?" Thorin asked, his voice deep and hoarse with sleepiness, yet, softer than ever before. Bilbo swallowed hard to keep himself together. He didn't know how long he could hold this unreadable expression, but he hoped that his body wouldn't betray his mind once in his life.

"I," he started weakly, but Thorin only started smiling and stroke his cheek again. His touch was eternally gentle, almost unusual knowing how Thorin was most of the time, and Bilbo didn't know whether he should hold his breath or take deep ones like he was about to pass out. He actually felt really close to it, but he didn't want to seem suspicious.

"It's alright," the king murmured, shifting closer to Bilbo's shoulder and placing a kiss there. "I don't want to rush you. You take your time."

That was the point where Bilbo just simply couldn't hold back his tears anymore. He slipped down on the bed until he could hide his face in Thorin's naked chest, closing his arms around his waist tightly and breathing in his scent. He cried without a sound, letting his tears roll down his cheeks and get lost somewhere in the sheets.

There wasn't only pain anymore, pain for taking away Thorin's stone. No, it was guilt and regret now, too. And it was the worst combination ever.

He had never wanted to be wrong so badly like in that moment. Never.

***

"Dwalin, what's the matter?"

Even though the voice was sleepy and utterly silent, Dwalin snapped his head up wonderingly. He sat in an armchair on the other side of the room, his fingers delicately running through his beard. He had always done that when he was deep in thinking, but he immediately pulled his hand away once he heard Vanyra speaking to him.

He found the girl absolutely charming while sleeping, and, as she lay on her stomach and raised her head to look back at him, Dwalin caught himself smiling. Her hair was basically everywhere, and it was something he couldn't usually see during the day. She was way too thoughtful about her looks for that.

"You look ridiculous," Dwalin noted quietly, entwining his fingers in his lap as he sat up and kept watching Vanyra. She narrowed her eyes behind the abundance of hair, then, with a huge sigh, she turned to sit properly and pushed her locks back.

"You're thinking about Thorin again, aren't you?"

Dwalin's smile slowly faded until it was completely gone and he stared down at his hands. There was no way he could've lied to Vanyra, for the girl knew her better than his own mother back in the years of his youth. Vanyra cared for Thorin as well, so it wasn't surprising she could immediately tell what burdened the warrior so heavily.

She was burdened as well, she just hid it better.

"He won't listen to me," Dwalin shook his head, running his fingers over the scars he had all over his arm. He knew the story of each one. "That thick headed, foolish nutter."

Comfortable silence fell on the room, only the clicking of the fire filled the air somewhat. Dwalin didn't mean to anger himself, but whenever he thought about his best friend and his odd behaviour, he got furious. He knew somewhere deep inside that it was more than just a simple between-season, but he couldn't face the truth just yet. It was way too frightening, even for a warrior as tough and fierce as him. Knowing that he might've lost Thorin for good...

He didn't want to think about that.

He got carried away with these fearful thoughts once again, this time in such depths that he didn't notice Vanyra slipping out of the bed and heading towards him. The girl wore a long nightdress, its end skimming over the floor, and her steps were so light that Dwalin only realised she was there when Vanyra gently climbed into his lap and entwined her fingers behind his neck. The warrior tried to hold himself together and not show how shocked he was, but he had an inkling that Vanyra wouldn't have cared. She rubbed soft circles on his nape with her thumb, and Dwalin felt his body easing under the touch.

"I know you are worried about him," she started, her voice soothing and tender. "I am worried as well. But we can't look out for him all the time. He is king now, and if he really is in such a bad condition, we have to be careful."

"Should I stand by and watch as he completely destroys himself, then?" Dwalin looked up at Vanyra. He could feel his despair being written all over his face, but he couldn't help it. If anyone was allowed to see him at his weakest, it was Vanyra. "He is not only my king, you know that."

"What else can you do?" she asked, her eyes full of doubt and worry. Dwalin had to note what a good pair they made: one of them more desperate than the other, but neither of them can find a solution. He guessed the worry was automatically given once they became best friends with Thorin. They didn't stop worrying about him ever since.

Dwalin bowed his head and inhaled deeply, letting his eyes fall shut. He saw the face of Bilbo in his mind, the hopeless expression that replaced the once happy one. The dwarf knew that Bilbo had seen it as well. He spent most of his time with Thorin, after all, and the warrior wished he could've spoken to the hobbit even once to get his answers. He had never had the chance, though, and this uncertainty was driving him mad.

"I am glad you are here," Dwalin looked up after long minutes of deep silence, and he smiled after seeing the surprise in Vanyra's eyes. He held her by her hips, pulling her closer until their lips met in a chaste kiss. They barely touched, but Dwalin kept his eyes closed and breathed in her scent deeply. "I will try to talk to Thorin, but I can't promise it will go smoothly."

"Dwalin, don't do anything stupid," Vanyra whispered, holding onto Dwalin even more tightly. The warrior wrapped his arms around the girl, holding her close until there wasn't an inch of space between them anymore. "Please, be careful."

"What can he do to me?" Dwalin grinned bitterly, moving his head to the side so he could bury his face in Vanyra's neck. "He can throw me in the dungeons or out of Erebor. I really hope he has enough sanity to keep his sword in its sca-"

The sudden cry of endless fury and ire that shook the whole mountain cut Dwalin off, making both him and Vanyra snap their heads at the door. It was one roar only, one gut-wrenching bellow, and they already knew who it belonged to. There was only one person who could sound like this, and Dwalin knew it was time to do what he was planning to do for weeks now.

It was time for a talk.

Vanyra slipped out of Dwalin's lap without a word, but her whole being radiated worry. Dwalin reached for his sword-belt, pulling it closely around his waist. Only when it was on, he looked at Vanyra and held his breath for a few seconds. He knew the next minutes could go countless different ways, and he also knew that most of them weren't nice at all. Nevertheless, it was his duty as a friend and as a dwarf to step up if Thorin was about to ruin everything they had been fighting for, cost what it may.

"If anything happens-"

"Shut up and just go!" Vanyra yelled at him, stepping closer tentatively but stopping right away. She wasn't sure what to do, Dwalin could tell that just by looking at her. He wished he could've held her once more, but he knew it would've been only harder to let go if he had done anything that involved touching her.

So he turned around and walked out of the room.

His room was close to the stairs that led to the main hall, and the warrior could already hear the repining from upstairs. He wasn't the one to eavesdrop, though, so he took the staircase as swiftly as he could, taking two with one step and he soon found himself in the midst of a crowd. He saw familiar and unfamiliar faces alike, but he didn't stop to ask around. Thorin was still yelling in the throne room, and Dwalin broke his way through the dwarves until he was standing by Dís' side.

"What happened?" he asked the princess, keeping his eyes strictly on the king. Thorin was ordering guards to look for something, but he was completely outraged, so badly like Dwalin had never seen him before, not even after the sack of Erebor.

"The Arkenstone is stolen," Dís whispered, but her voice was shaking so hard that it immediately drew Dwalin's attention. The sister of Thorin was pale and tired, worry filling her whole face. It was highly unusual to see Dís in such state, and it made Dwalin uncomfortable. "He is not himself, Dwalin. He threatened to kill the thief with his bare hands. He also asked for Legolas, and I know he is going to do something stupid."

Dwalin's throat tightened. Dís was right. Thorin was about to do the worst mistake of his whole life, and there was no one who could've stopped him now. He quickly turned around to look for more familiar faces, but he only saw Bilbo standing close to the throne with his head hanging low. There were several elves around as well, the ones who stayed to help with the restorations, and Dwalin knew that if he was right about what Thorin was going to do, there would be bloodshed very soon.

He had to do something. Anything.

Considering that he was running out of ideas and the best thing he could think of was equal to high treason, he already knew he wasn't going to sleep in his room tonight. He had no other choice, though, so he took a deep breath and started walking up the way leading straight to the throne.

Thorin was pacing like a caged animal, his whole body tense and trembling with ire, but it didn't scare Dwalin. Thorin might've been better with the weapons back when they were young, but Dwalin was always better in brawling. He only hoped that didn't change over the course of time.

"Where the hell have you been?" Thorin hissed at the very moment he laid his eyes on Dwalin, but the warrior just stopped in front of him and stared right into those fiery eyes. Thorin's face was absolutely worn, like he hadn't been sleeping for days, and his gaze seemed more scarlet than blue at the moment. It sent a cold shiver down on Dwalin's spine.

 _So it_ is _the golden sickness,_ he thought to himself, his fingers curling into fists from the anger that was building inside of him.

"I don't remember you asking for me," Dwalin noted, his voice dry and indifferent. "I also can't recall you acting like a mad dog the last time I've seen you. When was it exactly? Oh yes, only a week ago. What a shame we live so far from each other."

"I don't care about your scoffing," Thorin muttered, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "My stone was stolen and I need it back. Find whoever did it and bring him to me alive. I want to be the one killing him."

Dwalin couldn't help the grin spreading on his face at those words, even though he knew it was only angering Thorin even more. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, but he kept reminding himself that it wasn't Thorin speaking. It couldn't be.

The warrior didn't have the chance to answer, though, for the crowd opened at the door and Legolas entered the throne room. Dwalin's eyes widened at the sight: he was escorted by two dwarven guards, walking closely next to him. The only thing missing was the chains from around his wrists and ankles, but he guessed Thorin would've taken care of that at any moment now. Closely following the elf, there came the sister-sons of Thorin, and Dwalin's heart twisted in his chest at the expression on Kili's face.

If that couldn't wake Thorin from his mesmerism, then there was nothing else.

The elves all around in the room were growing restless at the sight of their prince being taken in front of the king like a common prisoner, and Dwalin knew it wasn't going to end well. He just had to figure out a way to stop this madness.

"You asked for me, Your Majesty," Legolas said, his voice loud enough for the whole hall to hear. The people fell silent immediately, listening intently to the conversation between king and prince.

Thorin, to eliminate the problem of the height-difference, climbed back to his throne so he could be on eye-level with the elf. Legolas seemed to be perfectly aware of his situation, yet, his face remained unreadable and he kept his composure well. He was more than a thousand years old, so Dwalin wasn't surprised at his behaviour. He was his father's son, after all.

"The Arkenstone had been stolen last night," Thorin started loudly, filling the huge space with his voice easily. It didn't even sound like him anymore, and it placed another knot in Dwalin's stomach. "Interesting, that your father left this morning without consulting me on the matter first. Coincidence, or a simple escape to cover a theft?"

The elves couldn't listen to the false accusations in silence and they raised their voices immediately. Dwalin couldn't believe Thorin was ready to tear apart the fragile peace for the sake of a stone, the peace he made for his sister-son's sake. It was downright unbelievable, but he could do nothing else than burying his face in his palm and stand in silence.

"Uncle, what are you talking about?" Kili ran closer to Legolas to stand right by his side, staring at his uncle with wide, incredulous eyes. "The Elvenking didn't steal anything!"

"Can you prove it?" Thorin asked, his voice dangerously calm but full of greed. Dwalin eyed Kili worriedly, but the young prince's expression didn't change. It was fierce like his uncle's, and Dwalin knew he wasn't about to let that go so easily. And he was right to do so, just simply not in this situation when Thorin was so unpredictable.

"Can you prove the opposite?" Legolas asked, still measured and motionless. He acted typically like an elf, and it made Thorin rise on his throne, standing as tall as he could.

"I don't need to prove anything in my own halls, elf," he all but spat, eyeing the prince with naked fury. Fili was now standing by the side of his brother as well, both of the lads staring at their uncle like they were having a nightmare. "I will burn down all of Mirkwood if I have to, but I will find the Arkenstone and until you are willing to speak with respect, you will be staying in the dungeons!"

And then, all hell broke loose.

Kili immediately rushed forward towards his uncle's throne but was held back by the guards and Fili. They were roaring, and so were the elves. The whole hall was full of desperate and angry yells, and words such as 'injustice', 'traitor' and 'tyrant' could be heard in every second. Dwalin saw Dís trying to break through the crowd of shocked dwarves and furious elves, but she couldn't find her way and she was soon held back by the arriving Bofur and Bifur.

Thorin sat back on his throne, waving to other guards to come and take away Legolas, and he seemed to not even notice what he had just done to his sister-sons. Seeing Kili cry with desperation was the last thing Dwalin could take.

He marched up to the stairs before Thorin's throne, and started yelling, louder than the whole crowd.

"Are you out of your mind, Thorin Oakenshield?" he cried out, earning a wrathful glance from his friend. Now, though, it wasn't his friend who looked back at him. It was a greedy beast that he would've never called his friend, let alone brother. "Since when do you imprison innocents and break contracts that provide peace between the kins? Since when do you put gold first and your sister-sons second?"

Thorin jumped to his feet at that, walking down the stairs with heavy steps until he stared at Dwalin face to face. He radiated hatred, and the warrior saw the blur in his gaze. There wasn't an inch of Thorin left in him now, and it broke his heart completely.

"You have no right to talk to me like that," Thorin muttered with ire, his face only inches away from Dwalin's. "These are elves, and you are protecting them instead of your king? Maybe you are a traitor, Dwalin?"

Dwalin laughed bitterly, drawing another incredulous growl from Thorin immediately.

"If you call me a traitor, then do it for a reason you complete idiot of a dwarf!"

And then, before he could've thought about it twice, he raised his arm and punched Thorin so hard that the king fell back and unceremoniously landed on the ground. Dwalin could feel his knuckles aching from the hit but his blood was rushing too rapidly in his veins to worry about the pain. He could've sworn he saw Thorin's eyes clearing for a short second, but it was gone as quickly as it came. It was immediately replaced with such rancour that it turned Dwalin's stomach.

He didn't even realise it was dead silence in the whole hall until Thorin broke it.

"Take both to the dungeons!" he roared, his face scarlet from the anger that was at undescribable heights by now. Dwalin watched him carefully, and he realised it was irreversible.

Thorin would end up like Thrór. Being taken away with these thoughts in his head made it only easier to get thrown into the dungeon, for he fell like a sack of potatoes.

Thorin would end up like Thrór. And Dwalin wouldn't be there to save him.

***

By the evening, the elven courier arrived with the message of Mirkwood.

Bilbo wasn't allowed to read the paper, but he could catch a glimpse of it when Thorin wasn't looking. The King under the Mountain was given as long as a day to let Legolas go. If he chose to hold the prince as a prisoner, the elves would declare war and march on Erebor in three days.

The hobbit felt too numb to start to panic. On any other day, he would've begun thinking about how to help Legolas escape, but it was out of the question now. Bilbo didn't have the ring anymore, and without the power of invisibility he was absolutely useless. The only thing he would've reached was imprisoning himself as well, but that wouldn't have helped the elf. It most certainly wouldn't have helped the dwarves either, for the war would've come inevitably. In pair with the bloodshed and the death of all those who came home from the Iron Hills, hoping that peace would last this time.

Bilbo sat down on the edge of his bed, staring at his knees. He saw how much weight he had lost whenever he looked into the mirror. He saw the circles under his own eyes, he saw how his hair lost its colour. He saw how grim his face turned, how wrinkles started gathering at the corners of his eyes and lips. He wasn't Bilbo Baggins anymore, only a sad excuse of a miserable hobbit. He wasn't a Baggins, and he most certainly wasn't a Took.

He was a traitor.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Bilbo didn't have to turn around to recognise Dáin's voice. The otherwise fierce and fun-loving dwarf's voice was now dripping with worry and dry concern, and the hobbit felt his stomach tremble. He slowly closed his eyes, pulling his arms closer around himself.

"Those wretched elves took the stone, I can feel it in my guts," Thorin murmured, his voice still low with anger. Bilbo wondered if he could ever speak again without hatred. If he could ever feel love again, or if the hobbit took the stone for nothing, only to bring destruction upon the lands once more. "If I don't have the Arkenstone, I have nothing, Dáin. Nothing."

"You have me," Bilbo barely whispered, his voice lost in the silence. No one heard him, and he knew it was right this way. Some things just weren't meant to be heard, even if they were meant to be told.

"Then I suppose you won't let the elf go," Dáin took a deep breath, leaning heavily onto the table. "What about your sister-son? Isn't he mad at you?"

"He will have to learn it the hard way," Thorin answered without the tiniest bit of sympathy in his voice. It made Bilbo shudder. "You can never trust an elf, let alone love one. No one can afford love in war."

That was the last thing Bilbo could bear to hear. He knew no one would question where he is going, so he just left the room quickly with a barely audible 'excuse me', and closed the door behind him. He knew he needed fresh air, but he couldn't move too far from the king without the pain coming back. All he needed now on the top of everything was that burning; it would've surely meant the end of him. The farthest he could've gone was the main hall, but he wouldn't have found peace there. Erebor was still buzzing with the events of the morning, dwarves, men and elves everywhere in the kingdom. There was no way he could've faced anyone right now, but he knew he would go mad if he stayed in that room.

He needed fresh air. More than anything.

His legs carried him without his mind giving out any orders, and he was heading towards the stairs. He decided to go one floor down, but once he stepped off the last stair, he recognised where he was.

It was the corridor of the dungeons, and his stomach turned immediately.

Two of his friends and countless other elves who attempted to fight Thorin for betraying the peace contract were sitting behind the unbreakable bars. No one who had a close relationship with the prisoners was allowed to visit them, but the guards didn't stop Bilbo. They didn't dare. They saw how Thorin acted earlier: stopping the one he shared his bed with from walking wherever he wanted might've meant sure death for them.

Bilbo wished they hadn't let him in.

"Bilbo!"

The sound of Legolas' relieved voice was placing an itching feeling in Bilbo's chest. It wasn't too hard to find the elf's cell, and he could see that Dwalin was thrown into the one right next to that. They were pretty close, but Thorin made sure to separate Legolas from the other elves in a good distance.

Bilbo felt like crying, but he knew he had to hold on.

"How did you get in here?" Legolas asked, his fingers curling around the bars as he shifted closer to Bilbo. The hobbit was kneeling on the cold, hard ground, his hands holding onto the bars as well.

He smiled sadly.

"I think it's the... advantage, if the king is fond of you."

Legolas started chuckling and Bilbo lowered his gaze with a resigned look on his face. He immediately spotted the bruises on the elf's wrists, and fear filled his heart at the sight. Those were ugly, dark purple bruises that obviously meant how fiercely Legolas fought against the dwarves. He remembered seeing the elf as he tried to slip out of their hold, to reach Kili somehow. The heartbreak on the young dwarf's face was something Bilbo would never forget, and he could feel his heart wrenching immediately at the memory.

"How is Kili?" Legolas whispered after long minutes of silence, and Bilbo turned his gaze back to the elf's face.

"I haven't seen him," the hobbit shook his head. He wished he was quicker to catch him, but he was too close to a panic attack to stay amongst people. He needed some time alone to calm himself down; needless to say it was mostly useless. "His mother said he wouldn't open the door of his room. Fili and Rose are with him, though, so I don't think he can harm himself."

"Good," Legolas sighed, seemingly in absolute relief. Bilbo, for the first time in weeks, felt a genuine smile tugging at his lips and it didn't cease to miss Legolas' attention. "What?"

"It's nothing," Bilbo shook his head gently, but his smile never faded. "You don't even worry about yourself, only Kili."

"I don't care what happens to me," Legolas shrugged, eyeing the bars intently with his ocean blue gaze. "I am a prisoner, and I am taken care of. But Thorin doesn't care about his sister-sons, he only cares about gold. He has the golden sickness. There is no one to be by Kili's side, so yes, I am more worried for him."

Bilbo watched him in awe, forgetting about the painful burden on his shoulders for a few moments. It was seriously impressing how selfless Legolas could be sometimes, taking the responsibility for the company's escape, standing up against his own father and then coming here and still being able to receive the wished blessing from the Elvenking. The hobbit admired Legolas for all this, but he couldn't help thinking about Thorin again, and it made his chest tighten.

 _That is how he loves?_ he wondered to himself once more. He thought he would never need to think about things like this once more, but he proved to be wrong. He remembered the words of the dragon, the way he talked about the dwarves with utter surety, like he had known them completely.

_Once they reclaim their precious kingdom, you will mean nothing for them. It is in their nature. You should've counted on that before you agreed to help them, thief._

_In their nature. How ironic,_ Bilbo mused, a bitter smile spreading on his lips as he looked over to the other cell, only to see Dwalin staring right at him with unreadable eyes. The warrior seemed broken, and Bilbo blamed himself for that, too. _Nature cannot be changed. I cannot change his fate, but I can change these people's._

With a deep breath, he felt like he had something to achieve once again. He turned to Legolas, and the elf immediately looked back at him, curiosity creasing his brows.

"I cannot promise it will all be fine," the hobbit murmured, a reassuring smile playing on his face. "But I can try to fix what I've broken."

"What are you talking about?" Legolas asked, his voice full of confusion, but Bilbo was already on his feet, backing towards the door.

"Just trust me," Bilbo called back as he turned around swiftly and ran for the door, taking the stairs faster than he had ever done before.

He wasn't sure if what he was about to do was the right thing. He had been thinking since that fateful morning that maybe, just maybe he could find another way to settle things, but he realised that only he could pay for the deeds he had done. Not Legolas, not the lads, and especially not Dwalin. Dwalin who had always protected Thorin, Dwalin who was there beside the hobbit when no one else was. He had seen no other way out, and he slowly convinced himself that it was the most he could do.

Even if it meant the end of everything.

Bilbo was relieved to see the chamber empty as he stepped inside. He had not any idea on where Thorin must've been, but he didn't care now. His chest was aching and his heart was hammering in his throat, but none of them hurt as much as the tears that pierced his eyes from the inside. He was burning for an entirely different reason, but he still had the smile on his face as he walked over to the bed.

He tore the pillow open and reached inside, only to feel the warmth of the Arkenstone against his palm. Feathers flew everywhere in the air as he pulled his arm out and he stared at the stone for a while. He saw fat tears falling on the Arkenstone, rolling down on its sides slowly, and he felt a sob breaking its way through his last line of denial.

"This is the end here, isn't it?" he whispered, staring into the Arkenstone like he was waiting for an answer. "You shall take my place now."

 _Be good to him,_ he wanted to say but managed to only think, for the door of the chamber suddenly opened and Thorin stood there with Dáin right beside him. Once they laid their eyes on the hobbit they stopped, motionless and their breath caught in their lungs. Bilbo didn't move either, just stood there with the stone on his palm, open for anyone to see.

Nobody spoke and nobody moved for a long minute. Every second felt like a lifetime for the hobbit, and, when he saw the fury gradually growing in Thorin's eyes, he smiled again and started moving closer.

"Do with me as you wish," he said, not even caring about how his voice was shaking. He held out the Arkenstone, the shining piece of stone drawing the dwarves' eyes immediately. "The stone is yours. Let it truly be a good omen this time."

After this point, everything seemed to move in slow motion, and Bilbo's mind turned blank. He didn't hear words, he didn't feel pain. He saw pictures, he saw himself being dragged over the corridor, then up the stairs and right into the main hall. He saw familiar faces around him, then: he saw the company, he saw Vanyra and Dis, he saw elves and men. He saw Thorin's face, full of hatred and loathing, full of ire and wrath. He heard distant words like 'traitor' and 'burglar' and 'thief' and 'wretched hobbit', but he kept lying on the ground where he had been thrown by the king. He was smashed against the wall then, and then thrown away once more, and everyone stood and watched. Some wanted to intervene, but they were held back.

Bilbo thought if it was the way someone's heart broke into pieces. Did it hurt so much that his mind couldn't take it so it saved his body from the pain? Was it so unbearable that his senses numbed completely? Was it mercy or grace?

As he was hanging over the parapet, held by his neck and not even fighting for release, he couldn't decide. He wanted to see the man he loved, at least once more, but the monster who took Thorin from him was wrapping his fingers around his neck now. He yelled and bellowed, words Bilbo couldn't make out. He looked as the dwarf's lips were moving, but he didn't really see anything.

Right until a familiar face appeared behind the king. A familiar face that he had not seen for way too long.

"Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thrór!" the figure roared, the air growing dark and thick around him. His eyes held lightning, and Bilbo choked for air for the first time. " _No one_ touches my burglar without paying a heavy price for it, you stubborn, useless dwarf!"

And then, the grip was suddenly gone. Instead of falling to the depths, however, Bilbo landed on solid ground and his senses came back in a fraction of a second.

He wished they hadn't.

His whole body was aching from the torture, his head felt like it was about to explode, and his heart almost tore itself out of its rightful place. Bilbo could barely see anything as he lay on the ground, and he knew he was dangerously close to passing out. He actually awaited it.

"Elves declaring war on Erebor? You throwing your friends into dungeons and threatening your best friend with death? I would have never helped you with your journey had I known how weak you are, Thorin Oakenshield!"

Bilbo slowly turned his head to see Gandalf and not only hear him, but it hurt so badly that he started crying again. He felt hot tears rolling down his cheeks as he locked eyes with the wizard, begging for help without actual words. He couldn't look at Thorin, not anymore. He couldn't stand this pain. He couldn't stand being awake and knowing that it was over.

It was the end.

"Take him away from here," Thorin growled, wrenching Bilbo's heart even more. "I don't want to see him."

The moment he started walking away, Bilbo saw the space narrowing around him and he felt the pain getting distant. He was slowly slipping away, and he gave himself over.

Gladly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so... I kinda successfully ruined everyone's happiness now, and I can promise that it won't be better for a long while. x'3 But there is the "happy end" tag, don't forget about that. It won't be _that_ tragic, only a little bit.
> 
> I finished writing the last chapters yesterday, so it's ready on my computer for you to read. I will keep uploading them gradually in the next few days, so you can die from the excitement. A battle is coming up, even more heartbreak is coming up, ELVES are coming up. Oh guys, it's going to be amazing.
> 
> Thank you so much for the reviews, I am really glad you enjoy the fic. I hope you will keep enjoying it through the next few chapters as well. ;)


	17. Burglar of Hearts

Bilbo woke to the smell of Old Toby.

It was a strange feeling that washed over him once he recognised the familiar scent. It drew memories from him, memories from the Shire, memories of his father. Bungo Baggins used the smoke weed in his pipe, and he had always called Old Toby the 'finest weed in the Southfarthing'. As a hobbit kit, Bilbo always used to beg him so his father would let him try the pipe, but Bungo just chuckled and waved him off. He grew up with this smell, it ran in his blood and lay under his skin, it filled his lungs even when it wasn't there.

His aching body appreciated the Old Toby now, his chest rising higher than while he was sleeping. The hobbit felt a smile tugging at his lips as he opened his eyes, only to find Gandalf sitting in an armchair not too far from him, pulling his pipe lazily.

"Can I have some?" Bilbo asked silently, his voice small and hoarse and Gandalf slowly turned his head to the halfling. He wasn't surprised to see him awake, but, then again, Gandalf was hardly surprised by anything as far as Bilbo knew. The hobbit could see from this angle the worry that creased the wizard's whole face, but it was soon replaced with a soft smile, and Gandalf shook his head gently.

"It would be unwise, my dear friend," he mused, sending a smoke circle in the direction of Bilbo, floating in the air lightly. Bilbo kept his eyes on it, waiting until it completely dissolved and, with his own smile fading, sighed deeply.

"Where am I?" the hobbit asked, shifting on the bed carefully to look at Gandalf from a more comfortable position. The wizard stood, walking over to him and helping when he saw that Bilbo was too weak to position himself alone. He gently held the hobbit with one arm until he put the pillow straight, then laid Bilbo back and pulled the covers around him again. Bilbo moaned quietly with appreciation, his eyes closing for a brief second as he sank deeply into the bed again.

"In safety," Gandalf sat back into the armchair with a muffled grunt, and it looked like a giant falling to the ground. The chair wasn't that small, it was simply smaller than it seemed - even for Bilbo who already had his tired eyes on Gandalf again. "You are in the Halls of Thranduil once more, Mister Baggins."

 _Not again,_ Bilbo thought to himself, but he only let a slight frown show his discomfort. He didn't have pleasant memories of this place. However, as far as Bilbo could tell, it was still better than...

His heart started aching in his chest at the thought immediately.

_Erebor._

How come he would fear the magnificent kingdom of the dwarves more than how he had feared Thranduil's Halls earlier? Images and harsh words washed over him, shaking his whole body violently as he recalled the last happenings he could remember before passing out. Gandalf's voice pulled him back to reality when he was about to be carried away too much with his sorrow.

"The Elvenking was a generous host," the wizard spoke, pulling on his pipe still. Bilbo felt jealousy creeping up in his throat, and he eyed the pipe with longing. "He had had his healers to see to your injuries, and he told me he could help you with that nasty scar on your face as well."

Bilbo's eyes widened at the words. He almost completely forgot about the scar he got in the Misty Mountains before finding the ring. Thorin's finger often traced its line while the dwarf thought he was sleeping, and Bilbo learnt to accept that it was already part of his appearance.

Of course, once he had found a chance to get rid of it, he would live with it. It was a great relief that the Elvenking knew a solution, and he started smiling again.

"He is a generous host indeed," he murmured, staring up at the ceiling where grey smoke gathered before it disappeared completely. "I don't feel the burning either, even though Thorin is far."

The mention of Thorin's name was sour on his tongue, not as it had been once. He expected a somewhat greater pain while remembering how the king treated him, but all that filled him was numbness. Endless, gut-wrenching numbness.

"The healers gave you herbs that should help you with the burning for a short time," Gandalf explained, worry still lingering in his eyes as he took in the sight of the hobbit over and over again. "It is for physical pains, though, for no herb can heal the broken heart I'm afraid."

Bilbo smiled bitterly, staring into his lap intently, like he was waiting for answers from there. Even he didn't understand how it could be possible to keep thinking about your beloved strangling you and hanging you over the parapet without your heart exploding in your chest. Bilbo felt calm, however, and not at all heartbroken. He knew it wasn't going to last for long, but he appreciated the temporary peace for the time being.

"I know what I have done was foolish," the hobbit murmured, shrugging lightly like he was talking about weather and not something so serious. He would've liked to believe that it was only as serious as the weather. "I should have never taken the Arkenstone."

"And then it would've never been clear for the whole kingdom that their king was under the spell of a serious sickness," the wizard answered, his voice lower than before. Bilbo looked at him, doubt filling the lines on his forehead. "Dark times are upon us, Bilbo. Erebor is not safe for any longer."

The fear ceased to quicken his heart, just as pain had done earlier, and it started to annoy the hobbit. Feeling nothing was worse than feeling everything, he had to come to the conclusion.

"Why do you say that?" he asked, a headache growing behind his eyes.

"I have not enjoyed holidays while I have been away," Gandalf shook his head with a heavy sigh, putting down his pipe on the table beside him. He leaned closer to the bed, with his elbows on his knees and his eyes boring deeply into Bilbo's. "I saw awful things, my dear friend. While Thorin had slowly lost his mind, Azog gathered an army and he is coming restlessly from the south, by the line of Mirkwood. He plans to end the line of Durin without doubt this time."

Bilbo was suddenly glad, somewhere deep in his heart, that he didn't feel anything. The herbs might've helped him for a few hours, but once its effect had faded, he would not be able to take the news in such composure. Feelings would overwhelm him, more memories would wash over his mind and the pain would return as well. He appreciated that Gandalf chose this moment to inform him about the upcoming war.

"Did you tell Thorin?" Bilbo asked silently, earning a frown from the wizard.

"What do you think? He might be out of his mind right now, but he is still Thorin. Of course I told him," he said, exhaling as he stood and slowly walked over to sit on the edge of Bilbo's bed. The hobbit gently slipped closer to the other side, providing the wizard enough space. "If one thing had remained the same in him, it is the loathing he feels for the orcs. His recklessness, however, might be just as useful as it might cause his doom."

There was no herb that could've stopped Bilbo's heart from jumping at that, and he felt his throat tightening. It didn't matter how terrible the dwarf king acted, Bilbo knew it wasn't really Thorin, and watching him die was unbearable even to think of. No, that definitely couldn't happen. If he had had to climb down into the depths of Erebor to recover the ring and protect the dwarf with its help, the hobbit would've been ready to do it.

"He does not think now," Gandalf continued, eyeing his knees intently. Bilbo could almost touch the concern radiating from him. "He would go against Azog without a blink. He would give out impossible orders, make his soldiers fight until they'd all die eventually. He is just as dangerous as Azog. And we all know that a storm strikes once too hot and too cold encounter."

Bilbo swallowed hard, seeing Thorin in front of his eyes vividly as he lay on the ground, stricken by the Pale Orc, hurt and rendered completely useless, yet, still fighting to reach his sword. He was a brave warrior, but bravery and stupidity were often separated only by a thin line.

 _Thorin is the thin line,_ Bilbo thought to himself, letting out a heavy breath as he looked up at Gandalf firmly.

"Is it only Azog's army, then?" the hobbit asked, and Gandalf furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "The elves don't wish to fight the dwarves anymore?"

"Legolas and the other elves were freed, if that is what you were trying to ask," the wizard nodded, earning a relieved smile from Bilbo. "The elves combine their forces with the men and dwarves in the war against the orcs, and-"

"Although, I have not the faintest idea why."

The sudden cold voice came from the doorstep and both Gandalf and Bilbo snapped their heads to see its owner. It was unmistakeable, of course, for Thranduil had always spoken the same way, and Bilbo had already known him well enough to recognise him anywhere. The sudden movement slightly made him ache, though, so he decided not to do it once again.

"How is Legolas?" Bilbo asked after a bit of hesitation, not quite knowing if he had the right to ask. After all, he was the reason the elf prince ended up in the dungeons, and the Elvenking must've known that as well.

"He is well. Heartbroken such as you, but well enough to fight by my side tomorrow," Thranduil answered on the same tone, but it didn't bother Bilbo. He was more shocked by the smaller details of the Elvenking's response.

"Tomorrow?" He turned his head to Gandalf, the wizard avoiding his eyes immediately. "The war is _tomorrow_? How long have I been sleeping?"

"For two days," the Elvenking said, earning wide eyes and a hanging jaw from the hobbit. Gandalf shifted on the bed uncomfortably, and Bilbo knew it right away that he had his part in this. No sane man would leave him sleep for two days without a proper reason.

"Can I know why no one bothered to inform me that we are at war?" he asked, exasperation ringing out from his voice loudly, and Thranduil flinched ever so slightly. Bilbo realised it might've not been the best idea to start yelling at his host in that fashion, especially not after what he had done for him, but he couldn't help himself. He felt as if the herbs would not affect him anymore, and now, he felt everything a thousand times stronger than before.

"It might not seem as such, but your injuries are way worse than they seem, Master Hobbit," Thranduil started, his body tall and his hands clasped behind his back. "You needed rest, and once I was informed that you stole the precious Arkenstone of the dwarf king and revealed yourself only to free my son from the prison where he was thrown under false accusations, I thought you needed aid. More than what I've already given."

Gandalf immediately seemed interested in the chat now, raising his head to look back at Thranduil.

"What aid have you given Mister Baggins, if I may ask?"

Thranduil furrowed his massive brows ever so slightly, tilting his head like he had always done whenever he was thinking deeply. Bilbo was wondering why it was such a secret that the Elvenking made him cast the ring into the depths of the dwarven mines, but he chose not to speak. It wasn't his place to give away information that he might've not been meant to.

"I told him to get rid of the one ring," the elf answered after a good amount of hesitation, his face remaining the same. Gandalf's, however, grew very unsettled very soon, and it didn't fill Bilbo with pleasure, not one bit. "Have I done wrong, wizard?"

Gandalf fell silent, apparently not knowing what to say. For Bilbo, he looked more like an old man than a mighty wizard in that moment, and he was truly in awe at the sight. The hobbit would've never thought he would ever see Gandalf looking like this, torn between saying something or just staying silent.

He eventually settled with the latter, a perfect fake smile spreading on his lips and he shook his head - for the great surprise of Bilbo.

"No. You have acted wisely, King of the Woodland Realm."

And Bilbo knew the topic was wrapped with that.

***

Bilbo wasn't allowed to walk the halls that day, nor the next one.

He hadn't known many elves in Thranduil's dwelling-place, but it most certainly didn't mean he had to spend his time alone, despite being forced to stay in his chamber. The Elvenking himself stayed with him, even after Gandalf had already left his room, and the elf kept him entertained with various stories of his past or Legolas' childhood. Bilbo would've never thought that Thranduil was capable of anything different than cold words and digs, but the hobbit had to come to the conclusion that the Elvenking successfully distracted him from the pain that was stinging deep inside his chest. He hadn't once thought of Thorin or Erebor, and he counted it as something grand.

Tauriel and Legolas had also come to visit him on the evening before the battle. They both thought it would be only polite if they bade him farewell, but, of course they didn't expect Bilbo to come up with something entirely different.

"I wish to go with you tomorrow," the hobbit said, sitting up on the bed tentatively. He still felt weak and quavery, his arms barely holding him up as he leaned on them for support. "And what is more, I won't accept 'no' as an answer."

The elves stared at him with wide eyes, blinking occasionally as they kept switching their looks between each other and the hobbit. Bilbo looked downright a hundred percent sure that he was allowed on this trip, that he would be fine to take part in a battle, and both of the taller ones found it hard to believe that.

"You can't even get up from your bed," Tauriel broke the long stretching silence, her voice incredulous and her arms flying in the air beside her. Bilbo made a silent sound, maybe a growl that almost sounded dwarvish, and Legolas bit back a smile.

"You don't understand," Bilbo began, but the prince spoke this time, shaking his head. He stepped closer, keeping the hobbit's glance firmly with his own.

"I perfectly understand, but I still have to say no," he said silently, a serious yet quite worried expression filling his face. "I know you want to be by Thorin's side, but I will be there to pro-"

"No, you _don't_ understand!" Bilbo cut him off desperately, sitting up so high that the pillows slipped under him. He felt like shaking again, but for an entirely different reason, and he knew the herbs of the elven healers were about to wear off. He felt the ghost of burning on his skin, the knot of pain in his heart and the stinging feeling of the bruises on his limbs, but he didn't care. He needed to make them understand. He needed them to take him to that battle. "It's not just about Thorin! It's about the lads, it's about the company, it's about Rose! It's about everything I have fought for, and I won't just lie here while orcs are killing my friends! You have to let me go with you, Legolas, I'm begging you!"

Heavy silence fell on the room, pressing out deep, concerned sighs from the elves. Both Tauriel and Legolas were quiet, eyeing irrelevant points on the floor and thinking. They knew they were not in the position to decide about that, but it was also obvious that the Elvenking ordered the healers to keep Bilbo in bed for a reason. Legolas was informed that the hobbit had hidden the ring so it couldn't help him either, and there was nothing he could've done.

Not even if he had wanted to.

"You know that Thorin is still himself, somewhere deep inside?" the prince asked silently, peeking up at the hobbit from behind his eyelashes. Bilbo seemed pained at that, swallowing visibly hard then tentatively nodding. "Then you must also understand that if he knew that you are in that battle, ready to die a senseless death only because you wished to protect your friends, if he spotted you out in the crowd, he would be completely careless and it might cost him his life.

"The dwarf king loves you more than he loves his kingdom and that precious stone of his, Bilbo," Legolas shook his head slowly, an apologising look glimmering in his eyes. Bilbo couldn't look at him for any longer, his heart beating heavily in his chest as he tried to find anything to look at that didn't pour pity down on him. "I'm sorry, but I can't take you with me."

 _There are so many things I couldn't tell,_ the hobbit thought to himself, suddenly feeling way too small and trivial for this kind of burden. He was weak and he couldn't wield a sword, not even on his good days. It was a suicide mission from the beginning, and he just started to convince himself that Legolas was right when Tauriel suddenly stepped closer, making Bilbo look up with a questioning look on his face.

"Legolas can't take you. The Elvenking would spot you right away with him anyway," Tauriel mused, but there was something knowing in her eyes that rekindled hope in the hobbit's heart. "But it doesn't mean that I can't take you with me either."

Legolas' head immediately snapped in her direction with palpable incredulity radiating from him, and the girl started smiling once Bilbo let out a relieved sigh. The hobbit had not the faintest idea of what was happening, but he truly hoped it wasn't just a dream.

"Tauriel, what are you doing?" Legolas hissed, a desperate smile tugging at his lips. Tauriel looked at him with a dry look, making the prince stop talking immediately.

"If it were you on that bed and your father would tell you that you cannot go and protect Kili, what would you do?" the girl asked, rendering Legolas absolutely speechless. Bilbo was freely smiling now, knowing exactly that Tauriel used the best technique to turn the situation against the prince, and his heart was hammering in his chest for an entirely different reason. "Would you stay there and listen to him, or would you beg me to take you with me?"

The Prince of the Woodland Realm stayed silent, swallowing hard at the question. Bilbo couldn't miss the slight hue of pink on his cheeks as he stared at the floor, like he expected the ground to split in two underneath him and let him fall into the depths of Arda where no one can ever find him again. It must've been hard to hear the truth from his best friend, but Bilbo didn't feel any anger towards him. If anything, he only felt sorry for him that he was cornered like that.

It didn't stop him from smiling, though.

"Answer me," Tauriel ordered and Legolas shuddered, carefully looking up at his friend. Once he saw the playful look and the smile on her face, however, he rolled his eyes and took a deep breath, earning a giggle from both Tauriel and Bilbo. The hobbit could see where his dramatic reactions had been inherited from, that was for sure.

"Fine, but be very careful!" Legolas gave in at last, earning a grin from the hobbit that all but cut his face in half. He didn't remember the last time he had smiled like that, and it filled him with utter joy.

"I will talk to Rwryan and see to it that we can sneak you out of this room safely," Tauriel hurried over to Bilbo's bed, sitting down on the edge and smiling gracefully. "You have to promise me you will be careful, though, for I cannot guarantee your safety on the battlefield."

"He will have my watchful gaze over him."

The sudden voice from the door came utterly unexpectedly, and Bilbo was sure that even elves with the sharpest hearing couldn't foresee it. Both of the elves and the hobbit snapped their heads in the direction of the door, and once they saw Gandalf standing there, the sight had their jaws hanging in surprise. The wizard slowly widened his smile, eyeing the three of them with a fatherly expression.

"You are not angry?" Bilbo asked, his voice barely a whisper but still full of awe, and Gandalf shook his head, laughing heartily.

"You and Thorin had been given the gift of the Valar for a reason, my dear boy," he said on a tone that was more patient and caring than Bilbo had ever heard him speaking before. "It is a gift to bind you together, why would they want to keep you away, then?"

A warm wave washed over Bilbo as he saw the elves smiling at the mention of the Valar, and the wise words held truth indeed, even for those who knew only a little of this strange spell. As the Elvenking had explained earlier, the one ring took away the burning pain because of the evil it carried, and even though love was stronger than destruction, it often didn't find its way to escape the darkness. The same was true for the golden sickness: as long as it was hard upon Thorin, he couldn't feel the aching of the distance. The healers' herbs numbed only the body and not the spell, providing Bilbo some peace, but only for a short amount of time. Nevertheless, the spell wasn't cast on them so it could be pushed down. It had a destiny, and Bilbo had to use it as a guidance to find Thorin when his eyes were not of any help. It came from deep within his heart, and pure magic like this had always been cast with a reason.

Hearing Gandalf's reassurance only made the decision of the hobbit firmer.

"Even the smallest person can change the course of the future, Bilbo Baggins," Gandalf smiled softly, winking at the hobbit like he had always done. "Do not ever forget that."

And, with friends like this, Bilbo had known that luck would be by his side this time. He was sure of that.

***

_"Go farther."_

_Bilbo took a few more steps backwards, a cheeky grin spread on his face the farther he got._

_"I can't feel anything," he shook his head, pouting his lips after the comment, but his smile immediately returned._

_"This is not even a distance!" Thorin laughed, placing his head on his outstretched arm as he was lying on his side in the mess of pillows and covers all around him. The longer Bilbo stared at him, the more his heart hammered in his throat. Thorin was naked under the sheets, and it only made it more impossible for him to get any farther from the king. "Go some more."_

_"You are impossible," Bilbo muttered, silently chuckling as he kept walking backwards. He was still far from the wall but nearly not close enough to Thorin, and he was just about to make another remark when a wave of pain washed over him and he stumbled. Thorin snapped his head immediately, his grin still the same as he stared at Bilbo._

_"You felt that?"_

_"What do you think?" Bilbo walked closer quickly to stop the pain, sighing deeply as he pulled the blanket closer around his waist. That was the only thing that hid his... private body parts from the feasting eyes of the dwarf king, yet, he still felt hot under Thorin's gaze. Those crystalline eyes downright pierced his skin, drawing him closer with every second, and Bilbo swallowed a small laughter at the incredulous face of the king. "Don't look at me like that."_

_"You have been far for way too long already, come back here," Thorin all but growled, slipping to the other side of the bed as Bilbo jogged closer, jumping into the covers and crawling on the top of the King under the Mountain right away._

_Thorin wrapped his arms around his bare back, turning them around so Bilbo was under him, still grinning and giggling occasionally. He felt the irresistible desire to lean down and kiss that smile, to feel the halfling's lips against his own for the umpteenth time, but he held himself steadily and ran his fingers over Bilbo's cheek instead. His honey coloured, curly locks were falling into his face, behind them the hazel eyes falling closed and the small body leaning into his touch. Thorin was mesmerized by the sight, only staring for a long while before he was able to form coherent words._

_"I want to ask you a question, but I don't want you to answer it," he murmured, watching carefully as Bilbo opened his eyes. There was wonder inside them, endless and curious wonder that Thorin had adored so much._

_"Why can't I answer?" Bilbo furrowed his brows ever so slightly, earning a small smile from the king._

_"Because I don't want you to give a silly answer," Thorin said, his thumb gently running over Bilbo's lower lip. The hobbit parted his lips, allowing the dwarf to follow their smiling curve before he pulled his hand aside and cupped Bilbo's face instead. "You promise you won't answer?"_

_"I promise," Bilbo answered with a slight roll of his eyes. Thorin ignored it and took a deep breath, trying to calm his own quick heartbeat._

_"Erebor will be eventually ready and fully restored. My people from Ered Lúin will arrive, and I will wish to hold a coronation ceremony," Thorin started, his voice slightly trembling as he spoke. Bilbo kept eyeing him curiously, keeping his promise and not interrupting in any way. "After the coronation ceremony, I will be officially a king. And after I'm a king..."_

_The dwarf took a deep breath, his eyes sliding to the hobbit's lips for a moment before he looked deeply into Bilbo's eyes and opened his mouth again._

_"I would like to have you at my side forever. In Erebor. I would like you to move out of the Shire and live with me," he said, his voice barely a whisper. He swallowed hard, then, and added, "I would like you to marry me."_

_Bilbo stared, his eyes gradually widening as the silence between them stretched long. Thorin pressed a smile out of himself, a nervous and hopeful smile, even though he knew that Bilbo won't answer him just yet. After all, he had always kept his promises, and the king didn't want an answer now. He just wanted to see Bilbo's reaction, and it made his heart jump in his chest._

_"A dwarf never marries twice," Thorin continued, but it seemed like Bilbo couldn't even hear him anymore. His eyes were huge as moons, his lips still parted in wonder. Thorin wasn't sure whether he was trembling or the halfling, but he didn't want it to disturb his thoughts right now. "I don't know the hobbit customs, but I-"_

_"Shut up," Bilbo cut him off so suddenly that Thorin completely forgot what he wanted to say. Not like he would've had the chance to say anything else, for the hobbit pulled him down by the nape of his neck, crashing their lips together without any further comments, and Thorin gave up the resistance._

_He knew there would come a time for an answer to be given, but it was not that day. And he was glad to wait until the end of times only to hear it._

  
As Bilbo was looking down upon the desolation and the ruins of Dale, seeing countless warriors preparing for the ultimate battle between good and evil, he kept tasting the answer to that question on his tongue. He had had the answer since the very moment of the question leaving Thorin's lips.

He still had to fight to say it out loud, though. And he was more than ready for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We passed the 100k word count! YAY! I am so happy to see that, really. This is the longest fanfiction I have ever written, and I really hope you enjoy just as much as I enjoyed writing it. We still have a couple of chapters to go, with _lots and lots_ of heartbreak to come, but I promise you will not be disappointed. (At least I really hope...?)
> 
> It was a short chapter, but the next one is much longer, so brace yourselves! I will bring it soon.


	18. The Only Son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: blood and heavy angst.

Dwalin was a trained warrior, prepared to die at any moment. Nevertheless, he would have liked better if he didn't have to, that is why he was so skilled in fighting. He grew up amongst weapons, he had seen blood and death, destruction and evil. He had had injuries worse than many would ever imagine having, and he had to tend to similiar injuries as well. He was practically born for the battlefield, and his senses could immediately tell him when there was something unusual or wrong.

He had heard the battle outside. He just couldn't get out.

The thought of Thorin being out there and fighting alone in that mental state made Dwalin sick to his stomach. Thorin might have been older than him, but he was under the golden sickness, and fighting like that was equal to death, unless Dwalin was there to help him. All he had been capable of, though, was walking around his cell and trying to ease his flustered body. He wasn't a master of that, especially while bereaved of his weapons and leaving him with nothing to hold.

It was the nightmare of a warrior like him. And now his best friend wasn't there either to help him.

 _I swear to Mahal, if I ever see him again I will hit him so hard he won't find his head again,_ he thought to himself with fury, listening eagerly to the sounds outside. It was a muffled noise, dwarves marching and gathering together. Distant yells ordering everyone to take their positions, commands on where to attack the orcs from. He felt anger rising in his chest at the mention of orcs. So they didn't give up on their plan of erasing the line of Durin. The battle hadn't begun yet, but it was only the matter of an hour or so, and Dwalin couldn't do anything to break free and join his kin.

His pacing eventually slowed down until he was standing in one place and simply staring at the stone wall in front of him. If Thorin was to die outside, Dwalin wouldn't know. If Fili and Kili were injured, Dwalin wouldn't be able to help them. If the orcs were to take Erebor and defeat the dwarves, Dwalin wouldn't be there to interfere. He might never see his friends again. His brother. His Vanyra.

Dwalin swallowed hard and closed his eyes for a second, exhaling wearisomely. He remembered the last time when he knew everything was perfectly fine and he caught himself smiling. The lads were laughing, Thorin was well and there was a loving smile on Bilbo's face whenever he looked upon him.

If he was about to die, he wanted to remember only these memories, not the painful ones.

"Are you meditating?"

The voice came so suddenly that Dwalin almost stumbled back, pressing his back to the wall. He had to stare for a short moment before recognising the person on the other side of the bars and he blinked with his jaw hanging. The smile was sweet on the girl's face as she looked at him, a key tingling in her hand while she opened the door of the cell. She then dropped the key to the ground, rushing forward and wrapping her arms around Dwalin's neck tightly.

"Vanyra," Dwalin murmured, his voice muffled in her neck as he spoke. He held her closer than ever before, inhaling her scent deeply in his lungs. She was slightly shaking against him, her face buried deep in Dwalin's shoulder.

"I wasn't sure I would find you here," she whispered, pulling away so she could see Dwalin's eyes. The girl cupped his face with both hands, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs. She had tears in her eyes, but the warrior could see how badly she fought to not start crying. "I am glad he didn't hurt you."

"I would've loved to see him try," Dwalin grinned without amusement, but it was enough to make Vanyra chuckle gently and pulling his face closer so they could lean their foreheads together. "I need to get my armor and my weapons. I need your help."

They stayed silent and motionless for a few more moments, just lingering close to each other. They both knew what this battle meant, even without speaking of it loud. It could either give them or take from them everything, everything they held dear. Dwalin couldn't promise that he would come back, and Vanyra couldn't ask him to lie.

She didn't want to let him go, but she was well aware of how little time they had. She pulled away reluctantly, letting her hands slip off Dwalin's chest and her eyes were filled with tears again. She saw the sad smile on Dwalin's face as she stepped back, but she couldn't reciprocate the gesture.

They left the dungeons after that, hand in hand, running up the stairs and not stopping until they reached their chamber. Everything was exactly the way Dwalin last saw them, but he didn't waste time with observing. He knew where to go to gather his belongings, and Vanyra was a huge help in getting prepared swiftly. He changed into his battle clothes, taking the best armor in Erebor, shining and glimmering mithril. On that came the brigandine, the heavy belt and the plate mail gauntlets on his hands. While he fastened those, made sure that his knifes were ready on his waist and the mattock was prepared to be taken as the last step.

It didn't take more than a few minutes for the warrior to be complete, but once he took the mattock from Vanyra, his eyes caught the sight of teardrops rolling down on her cheeks. Suddenly, he felt unbelievably heavy under his iron armors, the last defense line he had, and his heart was rising in his throat with every beat.

He had never been particularly good with comforting. The warrior had tried countless times with Fili and Kili when they were younger, but they had always found solace with Thorin instead. He was good with making people laugh, but to comfort someone was not one of his few skills. Probably that is why he decided to stay silent and gently touch her face instead, making her close her eyes and lean into his touch with her lips trembling.

"Promise me you will be careful," she whispered, her eyes pleading once she opened them again, looking up at Dwalin. He stepped closer, close enough to feel her hot breath on his skin and he slightly trembled at the sensation.

"Vanyra," he started with a soft sigh, but Vanyra put a finger on his lips, silencing him immediately. She then moved her hands to his face again, pulling him near and touching her lips to his. It was a kiss dispense with passion and need; it was loving and full of pure affection, one that Dwalin rarely experienced in his entire life. He held her close, his mattock fallen to the ground for seconds now, his arms wrapped around her waist.

She was trembling when she pulled away, looking deeply into his eyes as she spoke.

"Don't say anything that you wouldn't say hadn't you been before battle," Vanyra said, her voice barely a whisper in the small space between them, and Dwalin swallowed. He held her gaze without a blink.

"Men lananubukhs menu."

The words were so silent that Vanyra wasn't sure he had spoken them at all, but one look at Dwalin's face was enough confirmation. Their mother tongue had never sounded more beautiful than in that moment, and new tears gathered in the corner of her eyes, her lips still parted as she stared at him in awe.

"I can't promise I will return," he continued, caressing her face gently with his otherwise rough hands. It was a moment he would never forget. "But I can promise that what I said is true."

After one more kiss, he was gone. Vanyra stood there, her arms wrapped around herself as she stared at the spot where Dwalin was standing a moment ago. She had never blessed Mahal as much as she should've, but in that moment, he was all that she could beg for Dwalin's return.

And she prayed. Prayed like never before.

***

"To fear you need not!" Only the howls of the cool wind broke the silence, whizzing next to Bilbo's ears. He felt the tips becoming cold as ice the longer they stayed on the desolate wilderness, but he said nothing. He tried to stay as invisible as he could without his ring while Thranduil's voice filled the air again and again. "Bravely you will fight, slay you will the beasts and their riders, triumph over their hords you will tonight when this battle is over! The orcs of the north, the worms of the Misty Mountains will fall this day, and we shall be their doom!"

"Have you ever heard speaking him so fervidly?" the hobbit asked the elf sitting behind him on the horse, so silently that only he could hear his words alone. Thranduil seemed even higher on his elk, mighty in his silver armour and dark leather underdress. It was tight against his body, revealing how strong and lithe he was under the loose clothes he usually wore. Bilbo couldn't miss the lack of the antler crown on his head, replaced by a simple yet beautiful silver band instead. He looked entirely different, and Bilbo found joy in analyzing him instead of eyeing the army of orcs on the other side of the desolation.

Anything was better than facing sure death.

"He is more passionate than what he lets others see."

Rwryan's answer came almost unexpectedly, for the hobbit had all but forgotten about his question already. He glanced at the elf quickly, then he turned back to see Thranduil still speaking, only on his mother tongue now. It was a strange way of encouraging the soldiers. None of them echoed the words, they just sat on their horses or stood their ground firmly. There was no passion, and it was entirely different from what Bilbo had always heard from his father or read in his books. Battles were meant to be loud, even before they began, but it was as silent as a funeral. Save for some horses whinnying in the background, had Bilbo closed his eyes he would've felt like at a burial.

Bilbo turned his head slowly, the helmet making it hard for him to move. He wore the armour mostly for the sake of mystification, to seem like he was one of them, even though once his feet would touch the ground the height difference would be an obvious sign. He just wished it wouldn't come to walking and he could stay with Rwryan for the whole battle.

Besides the helmet and the light breastplate that Gandalf could find in his size for him, he wore mithril underneath. The wizard told him it would protect him if he had been attacked before he could've reached the shelter of the Raven Hill where he was meant to be taken, but he wasn't the first one to tell its advantages to the halfling. The mithril shirt was given to the hobbit by Thorin once they first entered Erebor, right after Bilbo handed him the Arkenstone. It was the first gift he received from the king, and one he cherished the most. Bilbo still found it difficult to think of the dwarf without feeling sourness, yet, he couldn't help himself. He wondered where Thorin might've been in that moment, if he had ever thought of him. He doubted it, but it kept him sane somehow. Just a little.

As he moved his head to look to his side, he saw the army of men in the distance, around the ruins of Dale. They were only tiny spots, as well as the dwarves of Erebor in front of the front gate of their kingdom. Bilbo kept his eyes on the Raven Hill, his heart hammering in his throat whenever he thought about getting there. It was a long road, especially in the middle of a war.

Then, his thoughts were disturbed by Thranduil's loud cry, and he raised his arm as if stretching for the sky.

"Death to the foes of the elves!"

And in that moment, three armies roared as one. Three races for three different reasons, yet, against the same foe, bellowed and held their weapons high, the sound of their bravery shaking the hobbit inside and out.

Now, it was most certainly something he had read about earlier.

The orcs made their move then, attacking in all three directions, but no one gave an order to attack. They were still far enough so Bilbo could tighten his grip on the reins, feeling Rwryan's hand snaking closer around him, protectively. It was definitely less frightening to see thousands of wargs running in your direction while you had a skilled warrior at your back, Bilbo had to give Rwryan that, even though his fears were far from being completely vanished. His heart was hammering in his throat, and he pressed his back against Rwryan's body, as if he could've avoided being attacked with that.

"Tangado haid!" Thranduil yelled, moving to the side of his army with the huge deer. Bilbo saw Legolas for the first time since they left the Halls, sitting on a white horse next to his father. He had his arrow ready to shoot, and the first line had their swords drawn out, waiting for the right moment to use them.

"Why aren't they shooting?" Bilbo asked, his voice at least two octaves higher than usual, but his question was lost in the middle of the battle. The orcs were so close already that their smell was turning Bilbo's stomach, and Rwryan turned his horse to the side so he could start moving towards the Lonely Mountain.

"Hold on, hobbit," he told Bilbo, just before another cry came from Thranduil that downright made Bilbo shiver under his armours.

"Leithio i philinn! Northo!"

And in that moment, the Battle of the Five Armies began.

  
Orc fell after orc by Legolas' hand since the very beginning of the battle.

The prince completely gave himself over to the strange atmosphere of war. He saw that Bilbo was safe with Rwryan and heading towards the Raven Hill, and it allowed him to fight fiercely. He truly doubted the success of their plan from the moment Gandalf set it up for them, but Legolas knew Rwryan well enough to trust him. Once Bilbo had arrived at Raven Hill, Tauriel would wait for him, for she and her warriors held the far end of the desolation. Her archers stood on the balcony, and she had the most skilled soldiers amongst the whole army of Thranduil. Legolas knew Bilbo would be safe with them, there was no doubt about that.

After making sure that the plan was put in motion, he became the merciless warrior he had always been trained to be. He lost count of how many orcs he slayed with his swords, of how many arrows he let whistle through the air only to be closely followed by the scream of a beast falling to the ground, dead. He used to count in the beginning, but now all he cared about was to keep his friends who had seemed to be in trouble safe.

He was riding his horse without holding the reins, a skill that he learnt from his father and which demanded a great trust between animal and elf, something that Legolas was proud of. He tried to be careful with his arrows and only shoot when he had a firm aim, but it had never meant trouble for him. The elf was swift enough with his moves to never get an injury, and he moved the horse with perfect momentum.

He knew not how much time had passed since the beginning of the battle. His blades were dripping with dark orc blood, he felt the tingling sensation in his arms from the restless firing of arrows and every single one of his senses had been overwhelmed. He had heard things that no one else had, he had seen things that were yet to come.

He saw how the first wave of orcs had been decimated, and he was glad when he spotted his father in the middle of a fight with one especially huge orc. Its warg was already on the ground, dead, and Thranduil slashed the air with his elegant yet deathly sword in such refined fashion that it caught Legolas off-guard for a second. He had not yet seen the Elvenking fighting in battle, even though many elves had already fought by his side and they told stories about his swiftness and expertise. Now that he was carefully observing every movement of the older elf, it felt like Legolas was watching an entirely different person.

Maybe this awe was the reason that he found himself fallen from his horse in the next moment, heavily and unexpectedly landing on the hard, muddy ground. He felt the smell of blood and flesh as he turned to his back, only to see a raven black warg snarling at him as it slowly approached. Legolas realised with utter terror that his bow and swords had fallen to the ground behind the warg and he had no time to reach for them. His horse was already far, and he had no chance to escape. He tried to back away on the ground as quick as he could, but the beast was already dangerously close. The elf was ready for anything, even for the worst.

Without a second of hesitation, the warg rushed forward and jumped. The only thing stopping it from tearing up Legolas' neck was the long sword piercing through its body, and, after a long and painful yowl it fell in front of the elf.

Legolas was out of breath for a moment, not quite digesting the happenings just yet, but once he looked up to see the owner of that sword, he found his father standing there. Thranduil was panting, wiping orc blood from his cheek as he stared down at his son. Legolas lay on the ground with wide eyes, wondering where the elf he had known for over a thousand years had gone. The Elvenking looked like the hero of the storybooks, like he stepped out of a tale, and Legolas gazed, his lips slightly parted.

"The battle is far from over," Thranduil spoke at last, holding out his arm for Legolas. The prince stared for a few more moments before grabbing the Elvenking's hand and jumping to his feet, stepping over the dead warg without even looking. His father was leaning down for Legolas' bow and his swords now, handing them over to the prince with an absolutely unreadable expression. "You must be careful."

Legolas nodded, completely dumbfounded.

"Thank you, father," he breathed, but before his father could've said anything, they had been suddenly drawn back to the midst of the battle, orcs and wargs attacking them without waiting for the end of this heart to heart between son and father. Legolas only hoped he would still have the chance to tell Thranduil what he couldn't, even if only later. He prayed to the Valar to look over his father, but went back to fight nonetheless.

Slashing through enemies was a good lot easier afterwards. Even though he was out of arrows, he still had his blades and he wielded them valiantly. An orc came at him from behind and he was swift enough to bend down, just in time before a huge axe could've hit him. He had several elves around him who exchanged warnings on the Elven tongue, and it made fighting easier. While he was struggling with an orc and another tried to sneak up on him, someone was always there to cover him. It was the excitement of the battle, the very reason his blood was rushing in his veins, adrenaline filled, his limbs slightly trembling from the flush. He knew he probably enjoyed it way more than he should've, but he didn't care.

He was born a prince, but he was also a warrior, and now he could prove it. He would've been a fool not to.

He was battling his way towards the Lonely Mountain, never once turning back, not even for a second. He looked for the sight of dwarves frantically, especially one particular dwarf, but he had not spotted him anywhere. The mountain was still far, and the fight was heavy. He assumed he was closest to the men's troops now, for everywhere he looked he saw them battling just as bravely as any elf or dwarf. The second wave of goblins and orcs had already washed through the desolation, getting closer to Erebor with every minute, yet, Legolas still saw hope in the eyes.

Hope that this battle wasn't lost before it had begun.

The desolation was mostly plain, only a few higher mounds dotting it at places. Legolas easily spotted one of these mounds, running towards it to see a bit more of the battle. He knew it wasn't particularly safe without having any arrows, but he needed to find Kili. He needed to try at least, and there was no orc or goblin to stop him from that.

An orc grabbed his leg just as he was trying to jump onto the mound, but, out of nowhere, Bard the Bowman was there and chopped his arm off, continuing with a firm strike that ended the beast for good. He looked up at the surprised Legolas, giving him a reassuring nod that told the prince the archer was covering him. The elf then turned to look around the desolation, and his breath was caught in his chest.

Destruction, blood and corpses everywhere, dwarves, men and elves fighting fiercely together, in a fashion they had never done before for long years. Injured were constantly taken back to the tents where healers tended to their wounds, but there was no mercy for the dead who fell on the orc's side. They were stamped on and overriden, many of them finding their undoing by not being noticed as they fell. Legolas choked on his breath as he looked over the battlefield, and, when he was already giving up on finding Kili or any familiar faces amongst the dwarves, he saw something utterly different and he stumbled back slightly.

Two orcs, taller and paler than the others had arisen from the crowd, standing on a similiar mound that Legolas was watching them from. One of them had his left arm missing and he wielded a huge mace, just like the other one. He was smaller by a few inches, his body less injured than the other's but just as strong and fearsome. Legolas could see every single scar crystal clear, and he swallowed hard.

He knew them. He heard of them. And, although he would've never admitted it, he feared them.

"Azog and Bolg," he yelled down to Bard who just countered another attack that was aimed at Legolas. The archer snapped his head to the direction where the pale orcs were standing, Azog ordering Bolg. The younger one grinned cunningly, his fingers tightening around the grip of the mace as he flinged it with great force. Men and elves alike fell back, and Legolas felt anger bulding inside him. He already knew he would be the one to kill Bolg, he could feel it in his fingertips as they curled around his bow.

"You will need these."

Bard's voice came unexpectedly as the elf eyed the orcs, but once he turned around to face him, the man dropped a few arrows into Legolas' quiver. The prince stared in bewilderment, but Bard simply nodded again, turning back immediately to cover Legolas while the elf started heading towards the orc's spot.

It was a hard struggle, for the closer he got the more orcs he had to slay. He lost Bard somewhere along the way, the man getting too occupied with one warg, and once Legolas would've turned to help him, another elf was already there to give him aid. Legolas moved forwards, furiously brandishing his swords to the side and working with both of his arms at the same time in completely different directions. He could barely look up to see exactly where he was, but when he finally did, he froze to the spot for a second.

In the place of Azog stood Kili and Fili, and even though Legolas was yet too far, he could see Bolg moving towards them fiercely, his kin providing him space. Even one without expertise in battle could've seen that the mound was way too small for infighting, and, though dwarves could be just as fierce as orcs, the pale orc had the advantage this time. Kili was out of arrows, and even Legolas could see the fear on his face, from such distance. Fili held onto his swords more firmly, but it meant nothing against the giant mace and its wielder.

They were about to die, and Legolas knew he would never reach them in time. His only option was to turn back and head for the same mould where he stood before, and try to shoot from there.

And he was running out of time.

He turned so swiftly that he got dizzy for a second, although it never stopped him or slowed him down. There were less orcs to slay on the way back, for the elves were gradually marching on them and crowded them out of the inner side of the desolation. They fought with endless resistance, and Legolas was delighted to recognise Tauriel's warriors amongst the fighters. He couldn't see Bard, though, but he didn't need the archer's aid this time.

The mould was surrounded only by elves and men, but once he jumped on the top and turned to aim his arrow, it almost slipped through his fingers. The dwarf princes were already on the ground, Bolg towering over them with a grin that turned Legolas' stomach and they were bleeding.

They were bleeding hard.

 _If I miss this now, I might as well offer myself for Azog himself,_ Legolas thought as he fought the trembling in his hands and his rapidly hammering heartbeat. He dropped to one knee, positioned the arrow firmly and waited. The end of the arrow was touching his lips gently, the bow tense and stiff in his hand, and he carefully eyed the younger orc. He was climbing up the mould, raising his mace with painful slowness, enjoying the sight of the torment he could give the princes earlier. Right when he cried out loudly, shaking all the five armies to the bone, Legolas let the arrow fly.

For a moment, space narrowed around him. He could see nothing but the flight of the arrow, whistling through the air and aiming towards the pale orc swiftly. He was unprotected in the middle of a battle, but all he could care about was the arrow that bored itself into Bolg's skull and pierced through it, sending down the orc in a fraction of a second. His mace fell with him, and he tumbled from the mould, long dead.

Legolas could hear nothing for a while, his surroundings moving in slow motion and without a sound. He watched carefully as Kili and Fili looked up in pain, looking for the source of the arrow, and for the shortest moment, the younger dwarf's eyes locked with Legolas'. Then Dwalin, Bifur, Bofur and Glóin were dragging them off the mould to take them into safety, and Legolas finally found his way back to reality.

As his father said, the war was far from over. And he still had arrows to shoot.

  
Reaching Raven Hill wasn't easy and they lost their horse on the way, but Rwryan managed to help Bilbo escape the maelstorm of the battle successfully. It was often surprising how swiftly the elf could move in such crowd, but Bilbo was always distracted by new observations. Once the horse had fallen under them, Bilbo wasn't tall enough to see anything besides running people and hooves everywhere, so he tried to fall back on his hearing instead.

Hobbits had never meant to take part in battles, it was a well-known fact for everyone who had the smallest bit of knowledge on this race. Hobbits had always been a peaceful people, they were never born for battlefields. They had never entertained thoughts on bloodshed or fighting. They were a sensitive and gentle race, and Bilbo had never been any different until the day he started off on this adventure. It changed him on a certain level of course, but he couldn't take things such as dying easily.

Seeing people die and scream from pain was overwhelming, and it is an understatement.

By the time they reached the Raven Hill, Bilbo was trembling violently, and he was barely able to take the few stairs that led to the top. Tauriel and her warriors were holding the place as if it was a stronghold, and she was waiting for him already. He all but fell to his knees once he realised he was safe, and he only managed to look around when someone removed his helmet.

It was the elf girl, and she smiled at him with as much joy as a battle allowed her to show. Which was not much, but still better than anything else Bilbo could currently think of.

"You made it," Tauriel held him by his shoulders, stroking back his hair from his forehead. He couldn't control his shaking body, and he fell forwards, leaning heavily on Tauriel's shoulder. The hobbit felt the tears streaming down on his face only now, the sight of blood and death still lingering in front of his eyes.

"I saw them die," he muttered, closing his eyes to lock out the horrible images, but they only grew stronger. He quickly opened them, pulling away as he recognised what he was doing and he tried to collect himself as much as he could. "I'm so sorry."

Tauriel's eyes were sad as she eyed Bilbo, one hand still on his shoulder, then she shook her head.

"You will get used to it with time," she said, her hold on him tightening ever so slightly. "I must go to aid my people. Will you be fine?"

Bilbo swiftly moved his eyes around the small place, noticing countless elves gathering everywhere, armed and ready to protect Erebor at any costs. The hobbit felt somehow safer knowing he wasn't completely alone, and he nodded as an answer, thanking Tauriel without words before she stood to leave.

The elves told him to press closer to the back of the place, to move behind them and try to stay there whatever happens, but Bilbo was just as stubborn as a dwarf could be. The grim tone and facial expression didn't scare him and he stayed at the edge, looking down at the battle intently. He could see where the elves came from, where the men stood, but he mostly kept his eyes on the dwarves, following their every movement with his eyes. The desolation was way too crowded for him to recognise individuals, but some simply could not be mistaken for anyone else.

For example, Bilbo could spot Dwalin in the very first moment he laid his eyes on the battling armies. He found it strange how the sight of the warrior, finally out of the prison where Thorin thrown him, made him smile, and he felt a longing to be with the company again. His heart was beating heavily in his chest as he carefully eyed them, soon noticing Kili, Fili and the rest of the dwarves too. He saw how they ran, how they rushed forward and fought with all they had, how their massive axes, mattocks and maces sliced the air and striked down on the orcs and goblins. They defended their kingdom, they defended the mountain and they defended their home. None of them stumbled, none of them gave up.

And then, in the middle of the fight, there was Thorin in front of the gate, and Bilbo's heart skipped a beat. Even from the great distance, the hobbit saw how his armor shone in the dim light of the sun, how the wind played with his hair, how he held Orcrist, now glowing in blue, high. Every movement slowed down, the king getting lost between his kin, the orcs and elves, fighting side by side with those he would've never called friend before.

Those he, even now, wouldn't have called a friend. And then Bilbo remembered, remembered how this man was only a shell of his true self, how he threw him out of Erebor and humiliated him, how he called him things that hurt more than a thousand daggers in his heart. He remembered, and he felt new tears piercing his eyes from the inside of his skull.

"You will fall out."

Bilbo jumped at the sudden weight of a hand on his shoulder, almost truly falling off the edge of the height. He turned to stare at the elf, absolutely startled and frowning, but it didn't touch the warrior with long, dark hair and a soft smile. It was unusual to see an elf smiling at him, save for Legolas, and the annoyance on Bilbo's face slowly faded.

"I have done more dangerous things than this," he muttered, turning back to look for Thorin. What he saw, though, was absolutely different.

On the top of a mound, somewhere in the middle of the desolation stood two tall orcs, pale and terrifyingly familiar. Bilbo immediately felt sick to his stomach, automatically pulling back a little, as if he was afraid that he would get caught. He tried to speak, to utter a word and ease the tension that tried to explode inside of his chest, but the elf made it easier for him.

"Azog and Bolg," he said casually, as if it was something absolutely ordinary, but Bilbo felt such fear that he didn't have the power even to turn back and make a face again. The elf was strange, but the hobbit had more burning problems than his not at all elvish demeanour at the moment. "Good warriors but still just orcs. Nasty creatures."

"What is wrong with you?" Bilbo snapped finally, not being able to hold himself back for any longer. The elf blinked at him innocently, even though Bilbo looked like he could've thrown him over the edge at any moment. "You talk about them like they are nothing! I would love to see you go up against them and try to take them down with that single sword of yours!"

Even the hobbit didn't understand why he was so fired up by this elf and what he said, so he soon noticed himself and, with a quick clear of his throat, he turned back to the battlefield again. The elf stopped speaking for a while as they both watched Azog swinging his mace and taking down ten people at the same time.

Bilbo shuddered. The one time he faced the pale orc suddenly felt like it was only yesterday, when he stepped up to protect Thorin and almost got himself killed. Azog was frightening, a fierce enemy that even the most skilled warriors found hard to defeat. He was a murderer, and to hear that an elf who was supposed to be feeling disdain towards such creatures was praising his fighting skills was truly outrageous.

"You know, your friend should pick his enemies more thoughtfully," the elf mused, and the hobbit couldn't understand what he meant for a moment. It didn't take long for him to realise what he was talking about.

Azog was moving towards someone. He didn't go without an aim, he had his eyes on someone, and as Bilbo followed the way he was heading with his eyes, a violent tremble ran through his body. The way was open for him, and against him marched Thorin, his oaken shield firmly held in his hand.

"No," Bilbo whispered, a word so silent that he didn't even realise it slipped out of his mouth. He couldn't take his eyes off the dwarf who approached with steady steps, obviously led by blind rage, and Bilbo felt panic rising in his chest as he noticed that no one was there to aid Thorin if it came down to danger.

In the same time, yells and cries from the bottom of the Raven Hill echoed right up to the top, sending a wave of tension through the elves. They drew their swords and were ready to fight if needed, except for the one next to Bilbo. The hobbit switched his gaze between the orcs invading Raven Hill and the pale orc who was already dangerously close to Thorin, and, in this cavalcade of sheer terror and confusion, he completely forgot about the dark haired elf.

"Just leave him!" another elf yelled at him, obviously meaning that he should've left Bilbo instead of stopping him from nearly falling down the height. Neither the hobbit or the elf were listening. The halfling had eyes only for Thorin, and, right at the moment when Orcrist striked down for the first time, only to be pushed back by the immediate counter attack of Azog, the black haired elf rose from his knees and sighed deeply.

"It was a pleasure, hobbit, but I am no longer in charge here," he winked at the started halfling who didn't even know what was happening. He eyeballed the elf with utter confusion, not understanding a word he said, but the little interlude was enough to distract him from the fight on the ground for a second. "I'm needed elsewhere, and I have been revealed."

"Wait, you are not even part of the elven guard party!" the same elf who spoke only moment before yelled and immediately turned to face the one standing by Bilbo. The hobbit crawled back only a little bit, being afraid for a moment that the other was going to hurt him. He seemed tall and older than any other elf up there all of a sudden, and Bilbo furrowed his brows in suspicion.

"Who the hell are you?" the elves kept asking, but the dark haired stranger didn't even look at them. He only grabbed the shield from his back, just as black as his other belongings and clothes, then, he did something Bilbo had never seen anyone doing before.

He jumped out of the Raven Hill.

For a moment, Bilbo sat at the same place with absolute shock, staring at the spot where this strange elf was standing so far. It took a painfully long minute until he could regain enough of his composure to crawl back to the edge of the height and look down. The elf was long gone already, and, as his look switched to Azog and Thorin, he felt a bone-shaking wave of relief washing over him. They were still fighting, and Thorin was still uninjured. Then again, Bilbo looked more closely and his eyes widened.

The only thing missing from the king was his sword. And after realising that, the relief was so quickly replaced with horror that Bilbo completely forgot about ever feeling the former.

The elves were still waiting for the call from downstairs as Bilbo ran past them, none of them stopping him. Some yelled after him, but the only thing he was focusing on was to stand still on his feet, don't fall off the stairs and pull Sting out of its scabbard without elbowing himself in the face.

Bilbo had never felt a run being so long as taking the stairs felt in that moment. Every staircase seemed like another mountain, another hidden door to open and another dragon to face. He felt completely exhausted by the time he reached the bottom, and he was almost started to death as he saw an orc running straight towards him once Bilbo got into his field of vision. It rushed forwards with a roar, and Bilbo had done what his first instinct told him to do.

He stabbed.

The hobbit was already expecting the gut-wrenching pain, the feeling of life slipping out of him and his memories flooding his mind, but none of these happened. He felt pressure on his arm as the blade got swallowed in the orc's body, and he let go, only to hear a huge thump. He carefully opened his eyes and his gaze landed on the dead orc with Sting sticking out of him. He let out a small laugh, almost relieved.

The elves arrived just in time to see the sight too, staring at the hobbit with surprise.

"Job well done, Master Hobbit," one of them said, stepping closer and pulling the sword out of the corpse. He handed it to Bilbo, but when the hobbit looked up to thank him, his mouth remained open without any word coming out.

It was the dark haired elf. And he was grinning.

Bilbo wanted to speak, he wanted to ask so many questions that his tongue got tied in the sudden rush of shock. It was only the ground-shaking roar and then a scream following closely afterwards that prevented him from speaking, and he immediately turned to see the source of the voice.

He saw many things at the same time.

The first thing was eagles, filling the skies and squawking loudly, every sound they made resonating with the smallest stones of the Lonely Mountain. It filled him with joy, because he knew they were saved.

Then, he saw a huge animal not too far from the front gates, where the fight of Thorin and Azog took place. Bilbo looked more carefully and he could see it was a bear, thrice the size of Azog the Defiler, towering over the pale orc himself like another mountain. It also filled Bilbo with joy, he even smiled. There was no one else who could roar like that, there was no one else who could be so giant. It was Beorn, and if Beorn came they were saved.

What ultimately made his smile fade, his last smile he would show for a year, was seeing Thorin on the end of his own sword, hanging in the air in the grip of Azog.

The noises of the battle grew distant and Bilbo's eyes widened. All he heard was the silent, painful groan escaping from Thorin's throat, but the king did not make any other sounds. The hobbit's own heartbeat was throbbing quietly in his ear, terribly slow and gradually louder. Beorn then swung his paw and slashed through the pale orc with his claws, drawing a deafening scream from Azog immediately. He let Thorin fall to the ground, limp and barely moving, but the bear didn't let the orc drop down next to the king and bleed out there. He grabbed him and pushed him into the middle of the battlefield, making sure his wounds would be deadly enough so he wouldn't escape the inevitable once more.

Bilbo kept staring and didn't move. He didn't care about Azog, he watched Thorin only. The king landed on his side and, with his remaining power, he removed the sword from his belly. He groaned again, his face convulsed with pain, and he turned to his back, his face falling into the dirt. He lay so Bilbo could look straight into his eyes, staring until the king noticed him.

And it was the longest, most painful moment in Bilbo's whole life that he would remember until his last breath.

"You haven't felt true pain until you saw your beloved die, Bilbo," his mother told him as they stood beside the grave of Bungo Baggins, Belladonna's hand trembling in her son's. She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I will keep praying from this day on that you would never have to feel that, my dear."

Bilbo had always liked to think his mother was never wrong. That she knew everything, that she was the smartest person on Arda and she would never make mistakes. Every child loves to believe this about his parents, after all.

In that moment, though, as Bilbo saw life slowly slipping out of Thorin, his blood cascading down onto the ground, he knew his mother was wrong.

So. Wrong.

Beorn raised Thorin from the ground then, so slowly that it seemed as if it took years, and Bilbo watched the king's lips moving. It was a short order that Bilbo could somehow understand, for his ears could only listen to him right now.

He came back to his senses when Beorn roared again, his ire and sorrow reaching Bilbo as a punch. He stumbled back until he was pressed against the wall, breathing heavily and his heart ready to explode, but he didn't hesitate. Once the bear and the King under the Mountain in his arms disappeared, he started running.

And he ran until he collapsed, right next to the king who was now lying on the cool limestones of the main hall of Erebor, surrounded by no one besides the shapeshifter and the hobbit.

_His hobbit._

"Don't move."

That was Bilbo's first thought, slipping out of his lips without thinking, and he snapped away Thorin's hand. He was about to reach for the wide wound on his stomach, still bleeding so heavily that Bilbo would've fainted at the sight on any other day.

It was not that day.

He shrugged off his useless armors and the mithril shirt, then took off his vest and pushed it against the wound with shaking hands. Thorin groaned, loudly this time, but Bilbo just shifted closer to his head to place it in his lap, one hand still on the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. He knew it was useless, but he couldn't just sit there, waiting for... Waiting. Just waiting.

He ignored how the vest was already dripping with blood.

"You are here," Thorin moaned, struggling to look up at the halfling. Bilbo nodded, his whole body ice cold and shaking with desperation. He felt strong, though, somehow, for not letting it show on his face. At least that's what he would've liked to believe.

"Of course I'm here, foolish dwarf," Bilbo muttered, trying to feel the resentment but he couldn't. All he felt was a giant lump crawling up in his throat, and it made it harder for him to speak.

Thorin gently chuckled, but he soon broke into coughing, blood colouring his lips. Bilbo felt his stomach drop, but he placed a firm hand in Thorin's hair, holding his head firmly in his lap.

"You shouldn't be here," the king shook his head slightly, his voice barely audible through his heavy breathing and supressed groans. "Not after what... I have done."

"No, I shouldn't be here, but I am so just accept it and shut... up already!"

Bilbo tried to ignore how his voice broke, how tears started welling up in his eyes. Thorin's hand was suddenly upon his own, right above the wound, and his touch was even colder than the hobbit's. He was pale and the colour of blood against his white skin was making Bilbo sick. He wasn't ready for this. The ring couldn't have shown him the truth. It wasn't the way of things.

It's not how it was supposed to happen.

"I don't know... how much time w-we have," Thorin managed, but Bilbo started shaking his head frantically, in utter denial. That was the last thing he needed.

"Don't you dare say goodbye, Thorin Oakenshield, or I swear to every god-"

"You still have the mithril shirt I gave you."

The squeeze on the top of Bilbo's hand was so weak that Bilbo suddenly wished he was the one dying on the floor in that moment. A void was growing inside his chest, pushing out the love for Thorin and replacing it with grief, and before he could've stopped himself, a sob escaped his lips and he bowed his head to look at the dwarf. The touch might've been weak, but the crystalline eyes were the same.

Smiling at him even if the rest of his face didn't show that.

"Don't leave me," Bilbo heard himself choking on words between two sobs, his tears falling on Thorin's cheek. The dwarf softly smiled, blinking with exhaustion as he opened his lips to speak.

"Have you thought about the question?" Thorin asked again, his voice barely a murmur. It was a tone Bilbo heard only rarely, only when it was the two of them. He would've never thought he might hear it for the last time so soon.

He found himself chuckling and crying at the same time, then, a smile spread on his face as he nodded, wiping his tears. He could hardly see anything from them, but Thorin's eyes never blurred.

"Yes," the hobbit nodded again, and as he watched hope rekindling in the dwarf's eyes right next to pain and guilt and sorrow, he kept his smile on his face and stopped crying for a second. "Yes. That is my answer."

The last time Thorin laughed was after Bilbo accepted him as his betrothed.

The last time Thorin smiled was when Bilbo pressed a kiss on his forehead, lips trembling and tears still flowing.

The last time Bilbo's smile faded for good was when Thorin closed his eyes and didn't open them again.

And now, it was _truly_ the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> _Men lananubukhs menu. = I love you._  
>  Tangado haid! = Hold your positions!  
> Leithio i philinn! Northo! = Fire the arrows! Charge!
> 
> This chapter took me three days, but I managed to write it somehow. It completely broke my heart, numbed me, stabbed in the chest and pushed me out of the window, throwing me off a cliff and burning me alive. I fought it valiantly, though, so yes, we are here.
> 
> I know this is really heartbreaking and sad and you feel betrayed, but trust me, we still have a road to go. Three chapters are still there, something may or may not happen in them. ;)
> 
> Also, you met someone in this chapter who will play a significant part in a later fanfiction of mine, but I won't spoil it for you. Let's just say he popped up here, which means there is a sequel coming up soon. YAY!
> 
> Thank you very much for the awesome reviews, I really appreciate them. You guys are wonderful.


	19. Angels On The Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that inspired the chapter was "Angels On The Moon" by Thriving Ivory. I recommend you listening to it while reading.

"Are you well, Your Majesty?"

Fili looked up in the half dazed, half confused way he had been lingering in for longer than he remembered now. His face was stoic, though, just as always, and he looked straight into the eyes of the man sitting on the other side of the table. He was tall and had short beard, but everyone else had long, either grey or dark ones that swept the surface of the table whenever they moved their heads.

Fili blinked and nodded then, clearing his throat quickly.

"Please continue."

He ran his fingers through his own beard. It was extremely short for a dwarf, ragged at the ends and faded. It had once been the colour of honey, softer than his brother's, perfect for braiding. It all felt like a lifetime had passed since then. Maybe even more.

"We do understand you are in a tight corner, Your Majesty," the man spoke as if nothing had happened, and Fili felt himself slowly losing interest again. He tried to hold on, though, and kept his eyes on the moving lips of the man. He didn't even remember his name. "Our king is willing to continue providing help, to keep trading Rohan's livestock for Erebor's valuable gold and gems, but you must see our problem here, Your Majesty. Orcs are trying to occupy the White Mountains on the south, and the King of Rohan is fighting them without ever seeing its end. You have seen the orcs and their destruction yourself as well, King under the Mountain."

Fili's throat tightened and he felt a bitter taste on his tongue. The smell of orc blood and flesh came into his nose in a fraction of a second, the sight of countless men, elves and dwarves who had fallen and were stamped on until they were unrecognizable was lingering in front of his eyes, and he had to swallow to fight down the lump that tried to burst between his tonsils. A headache was gradually growing behind his eyes and he took a deep breath, his eyes falling to the table from the man with pity in his eyes. He felt sick to his stomach simply by looking at him.

"What is it that Rohan needs me to do?" he asked, his voice rough and low, lower than ever before. He lost the thread of the conversation at the beginning, unable to concentrate, and he scolded himself for it. He felt the pointed look of Balin from his side, eyeing him like his teachers used to back in Ered Lúin, but Fili completely ignored him.

The men seemed a bit uncomfortable at the question, but the one who had been speaking so far gathered enough of his composure to answer.

"Rohan had been trading with Erebor for almost a year, but our King had strictly ordered us to tell you, we can find another partner to provide with our help if Erebor keeps falling back on the payments."

Thick silence fell on the hall and everyone remained motionless. The tension was so palpable in the air that one could've sliced it through with a butter knife, and the sound of breathing grew deafening between the walls. Fili inhaled deeply, trying to keep his face as serious as he could as he sat up more comfortably and entwined his fingers on the table.

"Brytta Léofa had aided Erebor greatly in the last few months, which we are eternally grateful for," Fili started as diplomatically as he could, and the men kept eyeing him with forced smiles. "My great-grandfather had gathered wealth great enough so we could aid people in need as well, like the men of Laketown or those who wished to rebuild Dale from its ruins. In spite of all the riches we bestowed upon these men, we still have more to trade with whomever we choose."

The men seemed the slightest bit bewildered at that, but Fili simply showed a similiar false smile to them in return, leaning closer to the table to have his eyes bore into each one of theirs.

"We pay in gold for livestock and farm produce for the Iron Hills, many of the elves, the Shire, and even for Ered Lúin, which is, as I am positive you all know, on the far western shore of Middle-Earth," Fili smiled charmingly, playing with his fingers as the unease of the men only grew and grew with every second. "It is a really, really long way to reach Erebor, especially that orcs are still threatening the safety of the main trading routes, but I am once again positive you all know that, for you just mentioned you have many others to trade with."

A silent, barely audible sound came from the direction of Balin, almost as if the old dwarf was trying to hide a laugh behind a cough. Fili sent him a lopsided smile before he turned back to the men sweating in front of him.

"I do understand your problem, gentlemen," the King under the Mountain said, his voice steady and kind as ever. Except for those who knew him, for they could hear that it was almost dangerously calm, and for his luck, these men already knew him to hear that. It wasn't the first time they came complaining to Erebor, but Fili wanted to make sure it was the last. "Rohan is still recovering from the war with the Dunlendings, then there is the matter of fled orcs on the south of your realm, I completely understand. It must be a burning problem to obtain some gold, believe me I know how stressful that can be. But you must understand something as well."

He leaned even closer now, the smile on his face long gone and replaced with such a grim expression that it would've made even the Elvenking tremble on his chair, let alone these men.

"The quantity and quality of your livestock is worse with every month, and we have over a thousand dwarves to feed in this palace," he murmured, his voice so deep that it resonated with every single speck of dust in the room. "Tell your king that until he regains his kingdom's strength, he will have to get used to his problem that he tries so hard to remedy, for cheap threats on abandoning the trade is not the way a good king deals with issues."

The words came out like a hiss, not even loud enough to echo through the hall, and Fili straightened, completely satisfied. The looks on the men's faces were priceless, and he decided he had enough of this company for the rest of the day. He cleared his throat quickly, waving to the guards at the door to come closer.

"My men will show you to your chambers now, gentlemen," Fili said, rubbing his palms together as he stepped back from the table until he was standing by Balin's side. He had a small smile on his face, carefully eyeing the men standing from their chairs. They seemed to tremble the slightest bit, but Fili thought it was only his imagination. "I expect to see you again at dinner."

They kept nodding tentatively, following the guards to the door. Only the silent murmurs of 'your majesty' were left behind, and once the door closed behind them, Fili turned expectantly to Balin.

The last thing he thought he would see was the concern-filled type of smile on his old advisor's face.

"How long do you think you can keep it up, laddie?" Balin asked, earning a confused frown from Fili. The king truly didn't understand, and the long silence drew a sigh from the white haired dwarf. "Brytta needs gold, but he would never ask for it. You have been beating around the bush for months now, and the only thing you will achieve is the termination of trading between Rohan and Erebor. These men told the truth, unlike you."

"Thank you, Balin. It is nice that you praise my abilities as a king like that," Fili pressed his lips together, heading back towards his chair to fall into it unceremoniously. Half of his resentment wasn't even real, but he did feel disappointed at the words of his friend. "If they don't ask, they don't get. I will need to gouge an official plea out of Brytta if I want to keep up the reputation of Erebor."

Even from the corner of his eyes, Fili could see how Balin started slowly shaking his head, approaching the table as well and sitting down on the left of the king. Fili kept staring at an irrelevant point between the gaps of the wooden surface, trying to focus on completely different things that had nothing to do with politics and exhausting men.

"Kings don't beg for help, laddie," Balin sighed, and Fili could feel his eyes on his own face. He didn't look up, though. "We are not trading livestock, nor farm produce with the Iron Hills, and neither with Ered Lúin. And we most certainly don't have more than 800 dwarves living in here. This is not how you deal with problems, Fili."

It was Fili's turn to sigh and he looked at Balin as if the dwarf was about to torture him on the most merciless way possible.

"Have you seen their beards?" he snorted, an incredulous smile spreading on his lips. He knew he was trying to change the topic for a reason, but he kept ignoring it as much as he could. "I felt envy, and it is downright ridiculous."

"You could have such beard if only you hadn't cut it off," Balin shrugged, leaning back on his seat with a satisfied smile and Fili's eyes widened.

"I was drunk!" he exclaimed, his voice an octave higher than usual and he was halfway between a laugh and a yell. It only grew Balin's amusement, and the old dwarf was eyeing the young king with a smile that was particularly rare to see lately. Fili made a mental note about it, but he simply smiled back with exasperation. "Kili almost chopped his ear off!"

He remembered how angry their mother was when they got home, Fili without his beard and Kili with his ear bleeding. They weren't in the right state to start panicking, but it surely changed the next morning when they had to face Dís' fury. She tended to Kili's ear and she tried to cut Fili's beard to look a bit better, but it never grew back the same way. He was glad he kept the braids, though, and he still had them in his chambers until this very day.

Everybody knew it wasn't a kingly deed, to deprive himself of his beard that was probably the most important thing for a dwarf. Then again, it was also known that drinking too much was a way to cope with loss, especially for dwarves, and Fili was not ready to be a king.

He was not ready to sit where his uncle was meant to sit.

Neither of the two dwarves noticed the silence that fell upon them. Seemingly both had been thinking about the same thing, recalling the same sorrowful days, the same grief washing over them over and over again. Their smiles were gone, and they sat in complete quietness.

"I am still not ready for this, Balin," Fili chose to break the silence a few minutes later, his voice small and holding only the slightest bit of despair. Balin didn't speak, he just turned his glance to the younger dwarf and watched him carefully. Fili saw the pain on his face, even behind his massive beard, but he had no one else to share his own with. He only had Balin now, and he thought he could afford a bit of selfishness now, even though it made his insides ache. "I am a warrior, not a king. I can fight, I can save people, but I can never rule Erebor like a true king. It's either I who wasn't supposed to survive that battle, or uncle wasn't supposed to die. It's not the way it was meant to be."

"Things sometimes happen without a reason, laddie," Balin murmured, his voice barely audible in the huge hall and Fili let his head fall forward, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "Ruling a kingdom is not joyous, and I know you don't feel ready. But we have to make sacrifices."

An incredulous laugh slipped out of Fili's mouth, and he snapped up his head violently. He felt anger building inside his chest, slowly but steadily, and before he could've stopped himself a flood of words escaped his lips.

"You are saying that Dwalin is supposed to be like this?" he asked, and Balin immediately let out a huge breath, shaking his head in silence. He avoided the king's gaze, though, and Fili didn't give him a chance to answer. "That Kili is supposed to spend more time in Mirkwood because he can't bear the sight of Erebor? That Rose was supposed to leave? That... That all those things were supposed to happen to Bilbo? Are you saying that, Balin? Was it all meant to happen?"

"No, laddie. It wasn't."

Fili didn't even realise he was shouting until he heard Balin speaking. The old dwarf seemed so small in that moment, curled up in the chair and staring down with sad eyes that Fili felt a pang of guilt immediately. It tore at his heart, and he had to swallow to keep himself together.

He wanted to be angry at Thorin for so long now that he almost believed he was. The took the easy way out. He died before he could've faced everything that he had done, he left everyone behind to cope with his loss the way they wanted, and he lies under the mountain ever since. They placed Orcrist upon his chest, the only thing he fully trusted and the very thing that took his life in the end. Fili could never forget the last time he saw him, and he could never forgive his uncle for dying. It felt unfair and selfish, and the fact that Fili had to step up in his place and right his wrongs was the worst.

Because, even though he was the rightful heir, Fili couldn't do anything to fix what was broken. He ordered that the Arkenstone must be destroyed, and it was smashed to smithereens in front of his eyes. That was the only thing he knew he had done right, however. Everyone else left him, and the only ones he could lean on were Vanyra and Balin.

Now he managed to hurt Balin, too. He guessed it ran in their family.

"I am sorry," he murmured, his voice sounding way too exhausted all of a sudden, even for his own ears. Balin glanced at him, concern deep in his eyes. "I did not mean to shout at you. It wasn't nice of me."

 _Or kingly,_ he added in his mind, but he was glad to see Balin simply shaking his head and waving it off. It didn't erase his guilt, though, but it was nice to have at least one person around him who could act with responsibility and who was wise enough to endure him.

"We all miss Thorin, laddie," Balin said, almost on a fatherly tone that was gentle enough to reach Fili as a caress, yet painful enough to open the wound on his heart even wider. He would have loved to hate him, but he couldn't, and it was only firing his grief more and more with every day. "But he would be proud of you, I am sure about that."

Fili felt a smile tugging at his lips. His cheeks warmed only slightly, for he found Balin's words quite hard to believe.

"Even though I am threatening the well-being of the kingdom with my stupidity?" he asked with a silent laugh in his voice and Balin nodded, winking at him knowingly.

"Even then."

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, both smiling about sweet memories that didn't come to poison their soul, only to delight them in times of dire need. Remembering that Thorin wasn't perfect either was a huge help for Fili, and he still believed he could get better with time, even if he didn't feel ready and probably never would. It didn't mean he couldn't try.

The king stood from the table with a huge sigh and a short clear of his throat, nodding towards Balin quickly.

"I promised Vanyra I would pay a visit today, so I better be going," he sidestepped from the chair, setting his clothes straight. He still wasn't used to these scarlet coloured, velvet drapes while his good old pine-green vests were waiting for him on the bottom of his dresser, but he knew they weren't appropriate now, especially while having guests in the palace.

He was already heading towards the door when he heard Balin standing up as well, calling after him. Fili turned swiftly, his composure back in a moment, and raised his eyebrows curiously.

"You can still change your mind about Rohan until tonight's dinner," Balin said knowingly, a cunning smile hiding behind his beard and Fili almost laughed out loud. He knew he wouldn't get away with it so easily, and he trusted his advisor enough to believe that his words held wisdom.

Fili nodded with a grin, his hand on the handle of the door as he spoke.

"I already did."

***

It was a warm afternoon when Vanyra laid a single flower next to so many others at the bottom of the Lonely Mountain. The winds, given it was late summer again, for a year had passed already, were pleasant on her skin, blowing her long locks over her shoulder as she straightened. She brought a rose, dark crimson with huge petals, a flower that was fit for a king.

 _A former king,_ she corrected herself in her mind, a sad smile tugging at her lips and tears brimming in her eyes.

It had been a long year, and it felt even longer without Thorin Oakenshield being around. Vanyra came to the grave twice in every month, collecting the dry flowers and bringing new ones instead. The tomb was secluded by a several feet high stone, an abundance of runes carved into its surface listing Thorin's real khuzdul name and the cause of his death. She knew every word by heart, and she often ran her fingers over the carvings, imagining she was touching Thorin's face.

She missed him way too much to describe. Thorin wasn't simply her king, but something way more important than that. Her best friend, her brother, her confidant. They grew up together, they often fought together, and losing him was like a piece or her heart being torn from her chest.

It hurt. And the pain of grief wasn't to vanish so easily.

"I thought I might find you here."

Vanyra wasn't frightened to hear the soft words right from behind her, and even if she had decided not to turn around, she would have recognised the owner of this voice. It reminded her way too much of her best friend's voice, and it made her smile without sadness now. She locked eyes with Fili, following the movements of the king as he approached her, stopping beside her.

"He would be happy to see all this green grass around the mountain," Vanyra took a deep breath, entwining her fingers in front of her thighs. She wore a light red dress, the same one she wore on the day she came back to Erebor. That was a day she wouldn't forget, ever. "Maybe even the trees will return one day."

The desolation was gone indeed, a clearing of sweet grass taking its place. There were no black spots anymore, nor wasteland. The ground swallowed every ounce of water during the long winter and the rainy spring, becoming more beautiful by August than ever before. Vanyra felt an aching in her heart that Thorin could not see how his kingdom recovered from the reign of the dragon, but she hoped he somehow had seen it anyway from the halls of Mahal, standing by the side of his father and grandfather.

"He would be so proud of you, Fili," she turned to the king with a watery smile, raising a hand to touch the dwarf's forearm gently. His laughter was almost lost in the winds, barely audible and weak, deep sadness glimmering in his eyes as well. He eyed the runes without a blink, reading them again and again until they were burnt into his memory.

"Why?" he asked silently, bitter exasperation ringing from his voice. "I have done nothing to earn his acknowledgement. I couldn't keep Kili by my side, and now the only heir of Erebor lives in Mirkwood. I couldn't protect Bilbo, and I had to watch as Rose left with him. Dwalin hadn't spoken a word for a year now, and I don't know how to fix him. I can't say anything that I've done well, Vanyra."

He fell silent for a few seconds, trying to collect himself quietly. Vanyra felt her tears rolling down on her cheeks, but she quickly wiped them away with the sleeve of her dress. She wasn't supposed to cry now. Not in front of Fili who had seemed like a child again, lost and insecure. She had to stay strong for his sake.

"I am a failure," he added, his voice barely a whisper as he uttered the words. He sounded so heartbroken that Vanyra felt a wave of protectiveness rush over her, and she caught herself raising her chin fiercely, turning Fili by his shoulder so he would face her. She swallowed her last tears, taking a deep breath before she spoke.

"Do not _ever_ say that, Fili," Vanyra said firmly, grabbing the dwarf's other shoulder as well. She held him in one place, never letting his gaze go. "Kili had a choice and he is loved where he is now. He has yet to grow up, and he is looked after. What had happened to Bilbo is not your fault, and you could've never prevented it. Rose made her choice as well, and I know it hurts, but I still think it is not the end for you. She still loves you, and if you do not wish to marry only to produce an heir then you won't. You can keep her close, even if she is in the Shire."

Fili stayed quiet, eyeing Vanyra vaguely before he slowly opened his mouth.

"And Dwalin?"

Vanyra felt her heart twisting painfully in her chest, her throat feeling too tight all of a sudden. Thinking about Dwalin was filling her with sadness and worry, neverending concern that she would never feel anything else had it come to him again.

She remembered the moment she left their chamber only half an hour ago, the once so fierce and valiant warrior now sitting motionlessly in front of the fireplace where he had been usually staying for a year now. He was staring ahead of him, right at the stone wall like waiting for something to show up there but naught ever appeared. He hadn't spoken, he hadn't given any sign of understanding what anyone was telling him, and he barely accepted food. He slept at night but he always awakened with nightmares, his warrior instinct telling him to grab his sword and protect himself. After a few incidents where Dwalin almost killed her at night, Vanyra had to put away the sword and get used to the restless nights.

It was a heavy burden to bear, but she never complained. She stayed by Dwalin's side ever since, waiting for a moment when he would wake from his lingering and realise that life had moved on.

Thorin was dead. And there was no going back.

Vanyra realised that she forgot to answer once she felt Fili's hand cupping her cheek gently. It shook her out of her thoughts, and she laid her own hand on the top of Fili's with a sad smile, squeezing it softly.

"Dwalin is broken," she finally answered, staring at Fili's chest. She was close to tears again, and she didn't want to see the pity in Fili's eyes. She would've started crying only. "I don't think it is your duty to fix him. It is only his. I know he hears me when I am talking to him, it is only that his grief and guilt is too high for him to see through it."

"Guilt?" Fili furrowed his brows ever so slightly, and Vanyra nodded.

"Guilt that he couldn't protect Thorin. Guilt that he let him go down on that road until he destroyed himself," she looked up into the king's eyes. They were filled with surprise, but it only made Vanyra smile again. She could feel how weak it seemed. "The same guilt you feel for everything you think was your duty but you couldn't fulfill. You too are broken, my boy, but you are a Durin, and you are strong. And you better remain strong, for our people have great hope in you, and everything you do is appreciated."

It was the first time that a genuine smile appeared on Fili's face, and he pulled Vanyra closer to hug her tightly. Vanyra often spoke to Dís, but she saw how the mother of the lads had changed after Thorin's death. She was either way too loving towards her sons or way too distant, she couldn't decide which would be the better way to cope with their and her own pain. It seemed the king was too young for ruling a kingdom sometimes, and he needed love that he could get from Vanyra whenever he needed. The girl hugged him back with need, pulling his head close until his face was buried in her neck.

Vanyra was glad she herself could keep her sanity, and even though she often felt way too fragile to carry this weight on her shoulders that was grief and worry, she could always pay her attention to Fili and Kili. Whenever the younger came home to see his brother and his mother, he always found peace with Vanyra, talking about Mirkwood, the elves and their strange customs. Fili shared his problems on politics and asked for her advice many times, and she gave it gladly. She had always been there for them, ever since they were born, and she knew Thorin wouldn't have wanted it any other way even now.

"The only thing I've done well was the destruction of the Arkenstone," Fili muttered into her neck, breathing in deeply, and Vanyra could feel how his body started trembling. He was close to tears, and she started stroking his back to soothe him, her other hand in his locks, her fingertips rubbing against his head gently. Mothers comforted their children this way, and Vanyra often felt like she was their mother on a certain level. "It can cause no harm now. It can't poison our bloodline. It is gone for good."

Vanyra pressed a kiss against Fili's shoulder, nodding slightly and waiting for Fili to calm down.

"You are your mother's boy," she smiled softly, thinking about how bravely Dís could reason with her sons, with her brothers, with her husband. She was a real dwarven woman. It came from their mother, Rís, and Fili wasn't any different. Kili was more like his grandfather, though, often acting on sudden impulses instead of thinking. Thorin had that in himself as well. "Fierce. Insightful. And that's something your uncle had most certainly been missing."

Fili laughed at that, pulling back so he could wipe the tears from his eyes swiftly, but still holding onto Vanyra's shoulder with one hand. The girl smiled, caressing his hand gently and taking a deep breath.

"I should go back and check up on Dwalin," she sighed, pulling away her hand and stepping back ever so slightly. She turned her gaze back to the tomb for one last time, the massive stone locked with a magic-spell shining in the sunset. She ran her palm over the runes again, smiling sadly as her arm fell back next to her side. "Until next time, Thorin."

Vanyra saw Fili nodding his head ever so slightly, as if he was saying his farewells that way, then he held out a hand for Vanyra. She grinned, snaking her arm around Fili's as they started walking back to the palace, leaving the former King under the Mountain to rest.

***

Time in the land of Aman passed differently than in Middle-Earth. Days felt longer and nights felt warmer. The birds sang in the light and in the dark, stars shone brighter and it sounded like as if they had had their own voices. Minutes were longer, hours felt like days, and it was completely different from everything anyone had ever experienced.

Thorin did not know how long he had walked the eternal halls of Mandos. He knew his soul was peaceful, his mind quiet and his face soft. He did not feel the urge to rush, and the marble stones under his feet were cool against his skin. The long, dark blue robes he wore caressed his skin gently with every step, comforting his body ever so slightly. He loved walking these halls, even though he saw no end of them. It was a quiet place, the echo of a song filling the air as if it came from the far end of Aman. Every statue, every column held beauty, and even those he met during his walk but never spoke to were souls of peace, never of resentment. They were dead, but so was Thorin.

He wasn't alone at least.

Most of them walked through the halls only once, then Thorin had never seen them again. Strange it was, for the once majestic king seemed to be the only one who couldn't find his place. It didn't fill him with worry, though, nor fluster. This calmness never left him, easing his soul with every step. He waited for his fate in silence, endlessly walking and walking every day.

Thorin often saw Mandos sitting on his throne, long beard and grim expression always the same. He never spoke, but the aura of power and wisdom lingered around him at all times and he often eyed Thorin knowingly. The dwarf knew exactly who he faced, therefore he found it impolite to hold his gaze for too long. Instead, he turned around to make another round in the halls, the place bathing in dim light, yet endlessly sublime never ceasing to amaze him completely. Sometimes he would find Mandos gone from his throne, and it filled him with wonder, a thirst that he could not ease. It was wonderful to feel something at times, after all that peace and contentment. Not seeing Mandos was strange, but luckily rare. Thorin felt safer with him around, for without Mandos the halls felt way too spacious as if they were about to swallow him whole. It didn't make him frightened, though, simply uneasy. But Mandos always came back, and continued watching him just as before.

And Thorin continued walking. Right until the day he heard the first proper voice speaking behind him. For then, he stopped for the first time and turned, a warmth spreading inside his chest.

"How long, brother?" the man with blonde locks and honest smile asked him, and Thorin's lips parted in awe. His heart felt like a huge butterfly, fluttering and singing a whole different song from what he kept listening to ever since the first moment he had awaken in these halls. The long forgotten feeling of happiness washed over him, and he stepped closer, extending a hand and placing it on the man's shoulder. He was the same height as him, and he was a dwarf. Thorin's palm touched solid surface, and his fingers dug into the flesh ever so slightly.

He laughed, and it rang incredulously. He was so happy he could not believe it.

"Frerin," he breathed, and the dwarf's smile widened, pulling him in for a hug. And there, in the middle of the halls of Mandos, Doomsman of the Valar, they embraced.

The walk of the dead stopped and they stood, watching the reunion of brothers for long moments. They felt joyous, and the halls of Mandos hadn't seen such happiness between those walls for thousands of years. Thorin laughed into Frerin's shoulder, and the younger let him, holding him closely in his arms.

Thorin was the first to pull away, palming Frerin's face with one hand and holding another on his shoulder still. He feared once he had let him go, he would disappear. And he would not let that happen, not just yet.

"I could not help wondering where you have been," Frerin said, relief and the joy of seeing Thorin once again almost palpable in his voice. He smiled brightly. "This is no place for a dwarf, brother. Elves and men dwell here only, you do not belong here."

Thorin looked around, the walk of dead already moving again. They only glanced at them as they passed, understanding glimmering in their eyes. Thorin had not seen even the tiniest bits of emotions on their faces so far, let alone such generous gifts as sympathy, and his smile grew at the sight.

"I figured that much," Thorin said, turning back to Frerin to meet those grey eyes once again. His brother had the features of their mother, and it rekindled hope in Thorin's heart. "Who else is here, Frerin?"

"Everyone," the younger grabbed his shoulder, pulling him in a direction Thorin had never walked in so far.

He saw the high gate only now, his eyes widening at the sight. Beautifully carved door it was, black as night and huge as a dragon himself, closed tightly. There was light seeping at the bottom, though, and Thorin kept his eyes on it intently. He marched the walk of the dead for a thousand times now, yet he never once saw the door. He wondered for a moment if it was allowed for him to take this path, but Mandos never stopped him.

Thorin let himself be dragged to the door, then looked at Frerin with wonder.

"Is there more to this land?" he asked as if he was at the age of a child and not his brother. Frerin laughed, touching the door gently. It obeyed as a good servant, opening up slowly and letting the light fill the halls in a fraction of a second. Thorin gaped, his eyes welling up with tears at the sight.

Pines stretching as high as the sky, crystal clear blue water that turned into white vapour and the thousand colours of a rainbow at a waterfall with bright unclouded sky awaited him on the other side of the door. The air was fresh and birds sang in the distance - it was Arda showing its most beautiful side, and Thorin wished he could have woken up to this sight every day in his mortal life.

Frerin saw his bewilderment and smiled softly, still holding his hand on Thorin's shoulder and squeezing it ever so slightly. Valinor was a beauty no one should've died to see, but they were here and it was all that mattered in that moment.

"Come," he murmured close to Thorin's ear and pulled him to the left, the older dwarf following him without a word. His eyes still feasted on the sight, seemingly never getting satisfied, but Frerin gave him time to memorize everything. There was so much to remember, and Thorin wanted all of it.

They walked for a while, exchanging words in silence about all the beauty Thorin could lay his eyes on. Frerin then brought him into a garden and showed him the people who spent their time there. There were mostly elves, but Frerin could name every one of the Maiar who happened to show up in the greenery. No higher power than them could be seen there, though, and Frerin decided to sit them down on the soft, sweet grass and let Thorin rest for a while.

Thorin wasn't wearied from the long walks he had taken, for he hadn't even noticed how long he endured without a moment of rest. But Frerin knew, for he was looking for his brother for almost a year now, searching the halls of Aulë again and again. To find him in the halls of Mandos was a surprise, but he understood its meaning swiftly and it made him happy. It meant it wasn't the end for Thorin just yet, that the Valar hadn't decided on his fate. Thorin did not seem to know, though, which was all well.

He would realise later, when his time came.

"So, how you died, brother?" he asked, leaning against a tree with his back. Thorin was running his fingers through the grass, smiling absentmindedly at the feeling. He felt like a child again, reuniting with nature after a long time.

"It was a battle," Thorin looked up, the smile still on his face. He did not feel agitated, and he remembered the last moments with peace in his heart. "A battle against orcs and goblins."

"Nasty death," Frerin frowned, but the knowing look in his eyes stayed. Thorin nodded in silence, turning back to the grass. "What happened?"

Thorin stayed silent for a few moments, the movements of his hand slowing down slightly. He seemed to linger in his memories while Frerin waited for the answer, but the younger was patient. He had known many things on the fate of his brother after his own death, but he wanted to hear certain things from Thorin.

"I was facing the Pale Orc, Azog," Thorin started, his voice silent but never once breaking with aching. There was no pain for the dead, Frerin knew that already. "I made a mistake and let grandfather's sickness take over me as well. By the time I realised it was the Arkenstone, it poisoned my mind and I wasn't myself. I grew reckless in the battle, and Azog pushed my own sword through me."

Frerin gave a sound that made Thorin snap his head immediately, a questioning grin forming on his lips. The younger looked completely shocked, his mouth hanging open with bewilderment.

"Your _own_ sword?" he repeated on a voice at least one octave higher, and Thorin chuckled. He would've found the situation weird on any other day, laughing about his own death with his dead brother, but it was Frerin and, well, he was dead too. There was nothing to feel ashamed for now.

"Its name was Orcrist. It glowed in blue whenever orcs and goblins were close," Thorin explained, shifting closer to the tree as well. The tree-trunk was wide enough for the both of them to comfortably lean against it right next to each other, and as Thorin nestled himself in the grass, his arm was touching Frerin's.

They were both eyeing the distant mountains and hills where the sunlight seemed to turn into gold and melt on the side of the grassy rises. It looked like the endless piles of coins that both Frerin and Thorin admired so while they were little, when Thrór would pull them into the treasure room and tell tales of how he put his hands on such riches. They didn't need words to know that they were thinking of the same memories, recalling the same stories, and they both smiled at the breathtaking scenery in front of them.

The silence between them was comfortable and lasted for minutes before Thorin spoke, his voice low and calm.

"I am sorry I couldn't be there with you," the dwarf murmured. Frerin turned his head, confusion creasing his brows as he looked at his brother.

"When?"

"When you died."

It would've hurt on any other day, but not then and not there. Frerin smiled and it occured to him for the first time that forgiveness must have been strange and new for Thorin. Valinor gave a new beginning to everyone, even if they were dead or alive. Elves and Men rarely left the halls of Mandos, for they went on different ways than Dwarves. Dwarves were waiting for the Last Battle, though, and their former lives were all but forgotten.

And forgiven.

 _So Thorin really gets a second chance, then,_ he thought to himself as the warmth of joy washed over him. Thorin looked at him and did not understand, the mistakes of his life still burning him from the inside. He would have a chance to atone for them.

"It was swift and you felt enough pain about it afterwards, so forget about it," Frerin grinned, wrapping his arm around Thorin's shoulder and pulling him closer. The older dwarf didn't seem less confused, but Frerin didn't give him the chance to ask for explanation. "But you, you had someone by your side, didn't you? Tell me about him."

Not like he did not know every single detail about Bilbo Baggins from the Shire, but it was something else that he would've also preferred to hear from Thorin. He knew of the spell of Estë and Irmo, and he knew how many of the Valar were piqued for it. But Estë was wise and her husband willing to see the halfling happy - a halfling who happened to come across the greatest evil of Arda and still being able to keep his sanity. He deserved happiness, and Irmo had it in his power to give it to him.

And what caused happiness to Bilbo, even if it demanded great sacrifices along the way, caused happiness to Thorin, and Frerin was endlessly grateful for everything the Valar had done.

The smile on Thorin's face at the mention of the hobbit was brighter than the sun, and Frerin needed to restrain himself from giggling like a child. He had never seen his brother in love, and it lifted his soul to unimaginable heights to see that joy in the otherwise worried lines of his face.

"He is a hobbit," Thorin murmured, his eyes staring at a point somewhere in the distance. He smiled gently, imagining every single detail of the burglar's face in front of his eyes. From the honey coloured hair until those perfect lips, the kind eyes and round cheeks, the small hands and short legs, and what was the most beautiful about him, his soul. He adored everything about Bilbo Baggins, and the love washed through him in waves without him even noticing. "He is the best thing that ever happened to me, Frerin. And he was there, right until the end."

"You are a real softie, Thorin," Frerin grinned, not being able to hold back the comment for any longer, and Thorin punched him on the shoulder gently. They laughed for a while, none of them really knowing the reason, but they soon regained their calmness and the dreamy expression returned to Thorin's face.

"Remember how father always wanted me to court Vanyra?" he mused, staring up at the bright blue sky above them. Frerin nodded, watching Thorin's face carefully with a small smile. "I could never find it in myself to fall in love, but then Bilbo came and everything changed. Had I not gotten under the spell of that cursed piece of stone, I would have married him, Frerin. I have made mistakes instead that I would never be able to forgive myself for. He would never forgive me either. It was for the better that I died, probably."

Frerin almost started laughing again. Thorin did love to be dramatic at times, but Frerin thought he would grow it out. Now, though, as he listened to his brother's words, he caught himself shaking his head ever so slightly.

"You are so wrong, brother," he said, earning a curious look from Thorin. Frerin stood then, pulling up the older dwarf with him and grabbing his shoulders. "You jumped between a wolf and your brother to save him and took the wound for him. You fought wars you weren't meant to fight, you made sacrifices you weren't meant to make. You were brave where everyone else was afraid and you gave hope to your people. You learned to love, and you were a fair and just king. The sickness took you, but your friends don't remember you that way. You will see that soon, brother. You will be forgiven, trust me."

Thorin's face was downright confused now, not understanding anything of what Frerin just said, but he let himself nevertheless when the younger dwarf pulled him into a hug again. His words held a finality that Thorin tried to ignore but couldn't, and, for the first moment since he walked Aman he felt a small knot of fear spreading on the bottom of his stomach. He hugged back with fierce arms, holding Frerin in one place with closed eyes.

"Why did you say those things, Frerin?" he muttered into his shoulder, his voice suddenly smaller than before and Frerin smiled.

"Because they are true."

When they let go, Thorin already knew that it was the end of something. The birds grew silent, and he could only hear the sound of his own heartbeat in his ear, throbbing harder and harder with every breath he took. Frerin kept his gaze, his hand slowly slipping from Thorin's shoulder as he stepped back.

"This is not the last time we meet," he promised, his face full of light and joy. "And it is most certainly not your last time in Valinor, Thorin."

Thorin wanted to ask questions, but he had not the chance.

The greenery disappeared from around him, and so did Frerin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we go. Two chapters left and we are here, at the doorstep of the end. I was so emotional while writing this, and I just couldn't resist bringing Frerin in. He is too precious for my heart.
> 
> I might be able to bring the last two chapters only on Sunday, for I'm going on a vacation to visit my gorgeous Ivana tomorrow and I won't be at home until the end of the week. Nevertheless, I will bring the last two chapters on the same day, so watch out for both! : )


	20. Rise From The Ashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters are uploaded at the same time, which brings us to the end of this fanfiction. Don't forget to read the epilogue after this one! ;)

The shadow of the figure walking in the front gate of Erebor stretched right across the main hall, all but reaching the doors of the throne room. The rays of the setting sun lit his silhouette from behind, and his weak body took vague steps ahead, drawing attention immediately. The guards almost dropped their weapons, some women nearly screamed and others just stared with wide eyes and parted lips. He did not care about them, just kept walking towards the throne room and pushed the half-open door wider.

The King under the Mountain sat on the throne, advisors waiting for his orders as he read the letter in hand. The weak figure walked closer, careful not to fall into the depths of Erebor on the narrow way leading up to the throne. His steps were slower and more careful with every movement, and he felt his heart hammering in his throat as the dwarves in the room seemed to notice him. They turned and stared, but he kept his eyes only on the man sitting on the throne. The king, feeling the lack of comfort growing in the hall looked up, and the letter immediately slipped from between his fingers as he laid eyes on the newcomer.

They eyed each other for a while, the weaker one feeling a small smile tugging at his lips. He saw more and more blurry until he couldn't separate the smudges from one another and he hung his head, completely resigned. He felt utterly exhausted and broken, and the king could see it in the way he was standing. Shoulders low, back bent and arms hanging by his sides, as if he just surrendered.

The King under the Mountain stood from his throne then, his own limbs trembling as he slowly took the stairs and walked closer. He had not even realised how his steps grew faster gradually until he had his arms wrapped around the other man, silently weeping into his shoulder as he hugged the king back.

A broken sob escaped his lips then, and it held an amount of certainty that made everything real in a fraction of a second.

"Thorin."

And the two kings wept, and the older one nodded, closing his eyes shut.

"I am back."

***

"I shouldn't have punched you that hard, Uncle," Fili muttered, now standing in his mother's room where they tended to the strained jaw of Thorin. Dís held a cloth dipped in cold water to the face of the returned king and Thorin flinched ever so slightly, enduring the pain quite well afterwards. "I am so sorry."

"He deserved it," Dís muttered under her breath, sitting down next to Thorin on the edge of the bed and frowning at her brother. Thorin nodded with a sigh, looking apologetically at both of them.

"I deserved it," he said, guilt dripping from his voice. He wasn't ready just yet to think about all that he had done, all that he had built and then destroyed, so he tried to focus on the numbness and the pain in his jaw instead.

"I would be really glad if someone could explain what is happening right now," Dís said, spreading her arms and then resting her hand on Thorin's as a sign of forgiveness. It meant the world for Thorin right now, even though it was only a subtle touch, almost too little to notice. He looked at his sister with love, but he fought back the tears this time. "The dead don't just come back after a year of... being dead. What is dead stays dead, I had the chance to learn that."

Thorin felt the curious gaze of both Fili and Dís on him, waiting for an explanation. And they looked at the right person, for Thorin knew the circumstances of his return and the reasons why he was sent back. He just didn't feel strong enough to talk about it now, for it was easy to not feel anything but calmness in Valinor and take the news then. It wasn't as smooth back in a living and feeling body that was about to be either beaten to death by his friends and family or crushed underneath the heavy guilt he had had to carry.

Neither seemed nice, so he decided to simply take a deep breath and try to change the subject.

"Where are the others?" he asked and placed the cold pack next to him on the bed. An exasperated sigh came from Fili, obviously irritated that he didn't get his answers, but Dís' hand remained on Thorin's. "I must see them now. It's better if they meet me now."

The silence suddenly grew heavy around them, filled with tension and concern, and Thorin turned his eyes to Dís with a questioning look on his face.

"Don't tell me that..."

"Everyone is alive," Dís reassured him tentatively but Thorin did not yet feel relieved enough to show any of it. He knew there was more to come, more that he would not like. "You must meet Dwalin first, Thorin."

Thorin felt the lump in his throat growing larger the longer he eyed his sister, but he nodded nevertheless. He remembered clearly how he had treated his best friend, but he also remembered the warrior fighting by his side in the battle just as fiercely as always. The moment he disappeared, Azog came at Thorin and he had not seen his friend again.

It was time to change that.

The rooms on this side of Erebor weren't far from each other, so they didn't have to walk a long way until they reached the closed door of the chamber of Dwalin and Vanyra. Dís told Thorin that he might want to step back and they would talk to Vanyra for it was sure she would open the door, but Thorin insisted and he knocked.

He tried to ignore how his hand trembled as he raised his arm, not quite sure what to expect. Neither Fili or Dís told him details about the well-being on Dwalin, they just kept repeating that Thorin had to see him. The simple fact that his best friend wasn't dead didn't really soothe his oversensitive nerves, and he had seen worse phantoms with every passing second. What if Dwalin was crippled? Blinded? Deaf? What if he had lost a limb and he wasn't able to fight anymore? He couldn't imagine worse than that.

Like so many times, he was wrong.

The door opened slowly, and once Thorin laid his eyes on Vanyra, he felt his heart skipping a beat. The girl in front of him was the ghost of her real self, pale and thin, dark circles under her eyes and no sign of fire in her gaze. He would've recognised her still, but it was a sight that shocked him to the bones and he felt his whole body tremble.

Vanyra stared at him as if she didn't believe what she saw, then she took his whole presence in with one long look. Thorin stood there without making a sound, letting her adjust for a minute before she shortly cleared her throat and looked into his eyes again.

"Vanyra," Fili started the explanation on a silent voice, but Dís must have silenced him for he stopped speaking. Vanyra looked down for a moment, then stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her. Thorin already knew then that the inevitable would come, and it came indeed.

She swung her arm and punched Thorin so hard that he stumbled back. Had it not been for Fili, he would've ended up on the floor, the other side of his jaw is aching now as well. By the time Thorin collected himself enough to look at her again, Vanyra's face was covered in tears and so much anger that it hit Thorin like lightning, then another punch came and he stumbled back again. She groaned as she hit him, a bitter sob escaping from her throat as she stared at Thorin intently, as if to set him on fire on the spot.

"That will be enough," Dís said in the background, trying to step forward and put a hand around Vanyra but Thorin stopped her. He shook his head.

"She is not done yet," he muttered, his voice rough and low. At the exact moment his voice first sounded on the narrow corridor Vanyra let out another sob and wiped her face swiftly.

"Oh I am so far from being done," she answered hoarsely, then lunged forward again. This time, though, she did not mean to hit him, but she pressed her lips against Thorin's, holding the dwarf's head in one place with both of her hands.

Fili let out a surprised moan, but all Thorin felt was the taste of his own blood in his mouth and the smell of salty tears on Vanyra's face. He held her waist, waiting until she was done and then receiving the third punch right after the girl pulled away. Thorin couldn't stay on his feet and landed on the floor with a painful but silent moan. Vanyra was shaking her fist, probably straining it with the punches, but Thorin knew the third was the last one.

Dís and Fili helped Thorin up then, his sister gently examining the dwarf's jaw with her soft fingertips. Thorin didn't even feel pain anymore, for he knew that he only got what he deserved, probably not even enough. He kept his eyes on the crying Vanyra, the girl pressing her back against the wall now and eyeing Thorin constantly. He took a few steps forward to reach her, but she shook her head, closing her eyes and turning her head from him. Thorin stopped, the rejection hurting him more than any punch he could ever get, and he hung his head as he turned to the door instead.

The handle felt like burning iron under his palm as he slowly pushed the door open, stepping inside of the room. The sound of fire was the first thing he heard, and the unmade bed the first he saw. Then he turned his eyes to the fireplace and he saw his friend sitting there, motionless and staring into the fire.

And Thorin felt like a piece of him was torn out in that moment.

It wasn't the Dwalin he had known for so long. It wasn't the fierce, valiant warrior who had fought so many battles by his side and punched him when he saw how Thorin was losing his mind. It wasn't his best friend anymore, it was only a shell of a dwarf he once knew. He was unbelievably thin, his skin wrinkled and fragile, his eyes empty.

Thorin slowly closed the door behind him as he approached Dwalin, careful not to scare him. Then he realised that the younger dwarf probably didn't even notice him, didn't even understand that he was there, and his steps became more firm, only the slightest bit. He was soon kneeling in front of the armchair, looking up at the dwarf and waiting for some kind of reaction.

Naught came.

"Dwalin," he murmured softly, trying to ignore how his voice trembled. He knew it all happened because of him, Dwalin was in this state because Thorin was reckless, because he died, because he pulled the ground from under Dwalin's feet. It was all his fault, yet, he promised himself not to cry. He knew he had to hold on. "Dwalin, do you hear me? It's me, Thorin."

Dwalin's eyelids fluttered ever so slightly, the hollow eyes moving down to meet Thorin's tear-welled ones. The king waited patiently, giving Dwalin time to take in his bruised face and his whole presence, to believe that it wasn't a mirage. Dwalin slowly parted his lips as if to speak, but only his hand rose and touched Thorin's shoulder gently. Thorin shuddered and kept fighting the tears as he saw the life gradually returning to the warrior's gaze. His grip on the king became more firm until the point where it was worthy for his real self, and Thorin placed his own hand on the top of Dwalin's.

"Just please don't punch me," Thorin muttered, a weak excuse of a joke and he breathed out. Almost a laugh, almost a sob. One tear rolled down his face, then another, and the corners of Dwalin's lips curved up slowly, barely visible to the common eyes of anyone. Thorin was close enough to see and he kept trembling in his whole body. "At least not now. You can hit me later as much as you want, just not now, please."

Then, the king's head lulled forward until his forehead met Dwalin's chest and he started crying. It was the last straw, the last thing he could take, and he let everything out for the first time since hours. The small amount of food his sister gave him was whirling in his stomach now, his whole body shaking with the sobs violently, and he grabbed the front of Dwalin's shirt, holding onto his friend desperately.

Eventually, he could feel strong arms wrapping around him and a tear-streaked face burying itself into his neck. They held each other and cried, for longer than they would have ever believed they could.

And Dwalin hadn't punched him. Not even later.

  
"When do you plan to return Vanyra beside me for the evenings?"

It was a few days later that Dwalin first entered Thorin's room. The king was folding his bedroll when his friend spoke to him, and the smile was immediate on his face.

"Once she believes that I am real and not going to disappear again."

The way Vanyra coped with Thorin's revival was slightly worrying, yet completely understandable. The girl was overwhelmed under the burden that Dwalin meant for almost a year, and she had no hope the circumstances would ever change. In the moment she laid eyes on Thorin, everything turned swiftly and she needed time to digest the happenings. Every night Thorin would find the girl standing on his doorstep, crying and shaking, and then he would hug her tightly and tuck her under the blankets next to him. It wasn't a problem for Thorin, but both Dwalin and him were slightly worried and careful with the girl.

There was one more dwarf who seemed to be going through the same process as Vanyra, and he was Kili. The young prince came home from Mirkwood immediately once he had heard the news on his uncle's return, and he clung onto Thorin ever since. Fili told the king about how his brother changed and how different he behaved, but Thorin would have never thought it was this bad. Kili acted like a child again, often oversensitive about everything and one harsh word could make him cry anytime.

Returning from the dead wasn't shocking only for Thorin. It was hard to swallow for everyone.

"What are you doing?" Dwalin walked into the room, his steps slow but his voice suspicious. He approached the king who stood by the side of his bed, filling his pack with clothes, different belongings that were needed on a journey.

He believed he wouldn't have needed to answer if he hadn't wanted to, Dwalin could've figured it out by himself. Nevertheless, he still smiled and kept his eyes on his bedroll, winding it up again and again to avoid looking at Dwalin.

"Packing," he answered simply, feeling the pointed look of his friend on his face.

"I can see that," Dwalin muttered. Thorin could immediately recognise the dangerous calmness and he knew he wasn't going to get away with this as easily as he hoped. "Where are you going?"

Thorin entertained the thought of not answering for a moment, but, then again, it was Dwalin. He was the reasonable one, he could always be convinced. There was nothing Thorin would've ever hidden from him, and he trusted the warrior with his life.

He looked up slowly, leaning heavily on the bedstead. He took a deep breath, an apology already forming in his head the more fiery Dwalin's gaze grew.

"As if you don't know," Thorin smiled sadly, locking eyes with Dwalin and never letting go. Anger was freely spreading on the warrior's face now, and he immediately seemed like he was his old self again, twenty years younger and just as fierce as always.

"I knew you were planning something behind my back, I just knew!" He probably didn't even realise that his words were gradually louder and louder until he was yelling, a mixture of betrayal, fury and worry filling his expression. Thorin hung his head slowly, never saying a word. "Why didn't you tell me, Thorin? Why hide that you planned going to the Shire?"

Thorin closed his eyes, taking every harsh word from his friend. He knew he deserved it, so he endured and only looked up when Dwalin seemed to finish with his shouting. He panted heavily, his gaze intense on the skin of Thorin, as if he was trying to set him on fire.

"Dwalin," Thorin muttered and straightened, but the warrior held up a hand and shook his head quickly.

"Don't," he stepped back, his voice almost begging. It hit Thorin like lightning and he stopped right away, just staring in wonder. "Don't you dare say you pity me you foolish brat! I don't need anyone's pity, not even yours! I was sitting in that chair for long enough, and I won't let you go on a trip like this all alone!"

"I won't be alone," Thorin said, his voice silent and calm. He knew this would happen, and it was the exact reason he didn't tell Dwalin about his plans. He thought it would be inevitable one day for the warrior to figure it out, but he hoped he would still have some time to gather his thoughts. "I will take Fili with me. This is our journey. We will be safe."

"Safe?" Dwalin snorted, an incredulous laugh leaving his lips in all but a spit, and he looked at Thorin as if the older dwarf had completely lost his mind. "Don't you remember the way we had to come to reclaim Erebor? Don't you remember all the suffering and danger we had to endure?"

Thorin slowly walked around the bed, standing still in a good distance from Dwalin but facing him with his whole body.

"I remember clearly," Thorin continued, voice soothing and deep. "But we will have the protection of the elves in Mirkwood, and it won't be dangerous afterwards. We will be fine, Dwalin."

The warrior fell into deep silence, turning his head as if in defeat. He pressed his lips tightly together, avoiding the questioning look of Thorin completely. The heavy breaths he took to ease his despair all but echoed between the stone walls of the chamber, and he didn't react as Thorin stepped closer. The king didn't dare touch him, but he eyed him still and tried to speak as convincingly as he could.

"I am not who I was when I died, Dwalin," he murmured, but Dwalin still wasn't willing to look at him. "Everyone remembers me like that, but I am not that person. I have to atone for my sins, and I must start somewhere. I choose to start with Fili and Bilbo."

It was the first time that Thorin spoke the name of the hobbit, and it blew a black hole into his soul. More and more guilt leaked through it, poisoning his body and making him numb, a new wave of self-hatred welling under the surface, ready to wash over him. Despite all the pain Thorin caused him, despite the heartbreak and the violence and the harsh words, Bilbo accepted him as his betrothed. Thorin simply couldn't live with that thought while the hobbit was so far from him, unaware of his return. He had to see him, and he had to tell him so much.

He just couldn't wait for any longer.

"I took something from Fili that I can never give back," the king continued, staring at a spot on Dwalin's chest intently. His words were silent, dripping with sadness. "He was forced to become king, and he was forced to see his betrothed and his brother go. He felt so much guilt for what had happened, for you and for me, for everyone. He is too young for that, Dwalin. I need to right my wrongs before it's too late."

On why he wished to journey to the Shire, he needed not to speak of. Thorin was deep in his thoughts when Dwalin carefully looked at him, all the fury vanished from his face. There was concern instead, worry more for his friend's well-being than his own necessity.

He slowly laid his hand on Thorin's shoulder, shaking the king from his thoughts immediately. The older dwarf looked up to meet Dwalin's eyes, the dark orbs holding nothing but understanding and only the slightest amount of sadness now. Thorin's smile was weak as he put his own hand on Dwalin's, squeezing it gently.

"If you wish to go with the lad alone, then go with him," Dwalin said, his voice low but softer than before, and Thorin felt relief rushing through his veins. He knew he could reason with the warrior, and he also knew it was foolish to ever hide the truth from him. If anyone was going to understand him, it was Dwalin. "Bring back the halflings to Erebor. The mountain needs 'em. And so do our kings."

Thorin smiled at that, nodding.

Indeed, they did.

***

It was the first day of autumn when Thorin and Fili set out on the journey back to the Shire. The change of the season brought chill and fog, but the dim sunlight forced its way through the clouds and by the time they reached the Elvenking's Halls they forgot about their cold.

Thranduil waited for them, providing them food and shelter for the night so they didn't have to use their supplies. Elven guards were ordered to escort them through the woods on the next morning, and Thorin felt appreciation towards his old enemy who grew to be a close friend eventually.

"May your journey be safe and your return richer with two additions, King under the Mountain," Thranduil bade his goodbyes at the gate of his Halls, Legolas smiling at his side. They parted without any resentment whatsoever, and Thorin felt joyous to have an ally such as the Elvenking. He proved himself worthy of Thorin's trust, and it was the same the other way around, even despite the horrible deeds the dwarf tried to atone for.

The days they spent while crossing Mirkwood were filled with tension and care, but no danger came to sabotage their way. They soon reached the end of the forest where Thorin remembered parting from Gandalf the first time they took the road, and he could already see the Carrock towering in the distance. He felt warmth filling his chest at the memories, holding his halfling for the first time in his arms, offering Bilbo a piece of him by the campfire in Beorn's Halls. These were pleasant memories the dwarf would've never wanted to forget, or for them to fade.

It was almost a week after they set out on their journey that the dwarves saw Beorn's Halls for the first time, looking exactly the same as months before. The giant was on his veranda, pulling on a pipe that resembled to Gandalf's greatly, the smell of the weed familiar in Thorin's nose. It was only the two of them, so Beorn wasn't too startled at the intruders who dared come close to his house. The horse servants looked at their master expectantly, but Beorn just stood from his chair and cast his huge shadow over the small creatures.

They needed not to exchange words, Beorn knew exactly who they were.

"The last time I have seen you, I was pretty sure you were dead," Beorn crossed his arms in front of his chest, narrowing his eyes as he watched the royal dwarves questioningly. He was careful not to drop even the smallest bit of weed from his pipe, but he seemed skilled enough in that already.

"I was," Thorin answered, louder than usual so the giant could hear him from the great heights as well. "We are heading to the Shire, and we would like to have resort to your hospitality once more, Beorn the Great."

The hearty laugh of the shapeshifter shook the whole forest, starting Fili enough so the prince almost fell back hadn't Thorin caught him in time. The giant kept chuckling like Thorin told him a great joke, but he eased his tense posture and grinned at the dwarves. Their eyes widened in surprise at that.

"You are always welcomed in my Halls, Thorin Oakenshield, and so are your companions," he said, turning to his servants and nodding towards them. They immediately fled, probably to prepare rooms and food for the newcomers, and Beorn stepped aside, stretching his arm at the huge door behind him. "Welcome to my Halls again, dwarves of Erebor."

Only four days they stayed with Beorn this time. They received new supplies, they could sleep in feather beds and eat warm, delicious food that melted on their tongues. The gardens were still green and the flowers still bloomed, even though it was slowly turning into real autumn. Both dwarves found peace in the shadows of the huge pines, just lying on the ground and staring up at the bright blue skies. It was warm during the days, but on the evenings they gathered around the fire and sat in comfortable silence.

It happened on the last night that Thorin couldn't find it in himself to sleep so he went to find his sister-son. Fili sat by the fire, his furs and cloak around him tightly as he stared at the flames. Thorin approached him from behind, making sure he made enough noise to not frighten his nephew.

"May I join?" he asked silently, and Fili nodded without a word, not even looking up at his uncle. Thorin felt an unpleasant knot in his stomach as he settled next to Fili, not quite to disturb his private sphere but to create more warmth.

They sat in quietness, only the sound of the fire making some noise, and Thorin hovered his palms above the fire. He knew it well that his relationship with his sister-son changed completely, yet, he tried desperately to fix it. He thought if they traveled long enough it would get better, that they would be closer by the time they reached the other side of the woods, but it wasn't the case. If anything, Fili grew even more distant and cold, often avoiding his uncle's gaze and keeping his sentences short.

It upsetted Thorin greatly, but he tried to wait patiently. By the fire in that moment, though, he couldn't stand the silence for any longer. He opened his mouth.

"I have never been good at speaking, Fili," the king murmured, loud enough so only Fili could hear him. He eyed his nephew, but the dwarf didn't give any sign of paying attention. "I have never been good at comforting or advising. I could make speeches if I had to, but it didn't require emotions. Once I have to tell someone about how I feel, I... I freeze."

"You are doing pretty well now," Fili muttered, staring down at his knees. It was obvious that he would've loved to be anywhere but there, and Thorin had to swallow to fight back the lump in his throat.

"These are not my feelings, Fili. These are my fears," Thorin answered. "My fears that I would someday have to comfort someone and I wouldn't be able to do it. That I would have to fix something with words... And I wouldn't be able to do it."

Fili let out a snort, half laughing and half sighing, but he still avoided his uncle's gaze. He seemed so bitter in that moment that Thorin had his heart hammering in his throat at the sight. It was a nightmare that returned to him from time to time, that he might not be able to change his relationship with Fili. He tried so hard, yet, it seemed hopeless.

And it broke him more with every second.

"There are things you can't fix with words, only with deeds," Fili finally looked up, disappointment and pain glimmering in his eyes. Thorin blinked and closed his mouth after slowly opening it. He wanted to speak, he just didn't know what to say. "You know why you were sent back, yet, you are not willing to talk about it. How do you expect me to talk about all I had to go through if you won't open up to me, Thorin?"

His name on Fili's lips sounded so foreign that Thorin shuddered at the sound. It had always been 'uncle', but those times were over. He tried to ignore it, though.

Indeed, he did not tell anyone about his long wandering in Valinor, nor about his encounter with Frerin. Whenever he remembered seeing his brother, his dead brother in those beautiful gardens, and the fact that he was constantly making mistakes in a life that Frerin couldn't live, his stomach turned into a small knot. He just wanted to tear out his heart and throw it away, to never feel it twist again, to never feel again. Yet, he knew that he couldn't keep it to himself for much longer, for it would've killed him on the inside first, and he wasn't strong enough for a battle like that.

Thorin had to speak. And he had to do it now.

"I," he started, blinking at the fire, feeling utterly confused. He did not even know how to put the story so it wouldn't seem unreal. "I didn't tell anyone, not because of the lack of trust, but because... It hurts. To think back, it pains me, Fili.

"I didn't want to come back. I wanted to stay and linger in peace until the end of time, but fate had different plans with me," Thorin chuckled bitterly, looking up at his sister-son from under his eyelashes. "She wanted to punish me by sending me back."

Fili was in deep silence when he realised that Thorin was on the edge of breaking down, and he didn't push it. He waited until Thorin seemed to gather enough of his composure to continue, but he quickly added:

"It's not that hard to talk about feelings, is it?" he murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips. It was reassuring, giving Thorin strength to go on and tell the rest. The king smiled back and nodded gently.

Then the moment faded, and he remembered.

"After my death, I arrived in the Halls of Mandos," he started, turning his eyes back to the fire. He felt numb and painless, almost completely empty. "It is not where we are supposed to go, but I was sent there. I walked the corridors of the dead for a year, not understanding why I cannot go through. I never questioned anything, though, so I kept going and I couldn't even feel the passing of time around me.

"Then, one day, someone found me and told me I was at the wrong place. He led me out of the dark halls, and, after one year of wandering, I saw the sunshine for the first time."

"Who was it?" Fili furrowed his brows, earning a gentle smile from Thorin as the older looked up at him.

"It was your uncle, Frerin."

Fili's eyes widened with awe, his jaw hanging slightly at the answer. Thorin held the smile on his face but eventually looked back at the flames. He felt the arms of his brother around him again, his smell in his nose and his voice in his ear. Everything was so vivid as if it happened only a few hours ago, and Thorin mused for a few more moments before continuing.

"We spent the afternoon in a beautiful garden, and I felt nothing but peace," the king said, his voice soft as he spoke. "I was well aware of everything that I have done, but I felt no guilt for my sins. I remembered how I treated you and Kili, Dwalin, how I hurt Bilbo. Yet, my soul was content and I was foolish enough to think I could stay there."

Silence fell on them as they both digested the story, Thorin trying to keep his feelings in and not letting them rule his mind, while Fili was simply staring, an unreadable expression on his face.

"You were sent back to right your wrongs," the younger dwarf murmured and Thorin nodded.

"And I deserve every bit of this pain I feel right now, Fili," the king said, looking straight into his sister-son's eyes. "I would never escape my fate. Not again."

Fili held Thorin's gaze for long moments, as if he was trying to read his uncle's mind. Thorin failed at recognising any feelings in either Fili's gaze or on his face, so he just looked back and waited for some kind of reaction. It didn't take much longer until Fili decided to answer.

"I tried to hate you for so long," he shook his head, a bitter smile spreading on his face. Hearing that while the dwarf was staring right into Thorin's eyes hurt, but he didn't even flinch. "You took the easy way out. You died, you left everything behind and left me here all alone to clean your mess. You angered the elves, you had a cursed piece of stone, you hurt Bilbo so much that he couldn't return to the Shire alone so Rose went with him. I had to become a king in a day, uncle! A day! And you haven't even told me how to do it, how to rule a kingdom without leading it into total destruction!"

Fili was yelling by the end of his monologue, but he still had more, and Thorin took it. He took it all, never once blinking as he received all the accusations that were rightful and earned, and he shuddered as he watched the tears welling up in those crystalline eyes. Fili was too young for this pain. And Thorin gave him all of it.

"Kili couldn't bear to live in Erebor and he moved to Mirkwood! He missed you so much that he couldn't walk the corridors without crying, he couldn't enter the throne room without seeing you shouting there and taking his beloved from him, throwing him into the dungeons! He forgave you everything, he swore he wouldn't blame you for any longer if you only came back!" The tears rolled down on Fili's cheeks, but he let them, never wiping them away. "But you were dead, uncle. You died, and you didn't come back when we needed you the most. I didn't have Dwalin, I didn't have Bilbo, I didn't have my brother, I didn't have Rose. All I had was you, and you died."

Thorin's throat was nearly exploding from the pain that grew in there, but he felt no tears coming. He felt utterly numb and defeated, and all he had seen and all his brain could understand were the broken, painful sobs of his sister-son right next to him. Fili buried his face in his hands, his whole body shaking as he cried, and Thorin had never felt worse in his whole life. It was a sight he would've never wanted to see, and knowing that he caused all this only made everything a thousand times worse.

He had his arms around Fili before he could've thought about it twice, and he was almost taken aback when he didn't feel rejection from Fili. The young dwarf held onto his clothes desperately, crying into his chest and pressing himself close to Thorin like a child, a wee dwarfling who just had his whole world shatter around him. And the king held him, rocked him back and forth and let him cry, consuming himself in his own pain in silence.

"I couldn't hate you, uncle," Fili muttered between two sobs, his voice muffled against Thorin's furs. Thorin buried his fingers in Fili's hair, rubbing circles on the young one's head to soothe him somehow. "And I missed you so much. So damn much."

"I am here, lad," Thorin whispered, leaning into Fili's neck and breathing in the familiar scent of his nephew. "I am not leaving you again, I swear."

It took a few minutes before Fili could stop crying somewhat, enough to sit up properly and wipe his face. Thorin saw only now how much his face changed, how his expression hardened and his eyes darkened. He heard the story of how Fili cut his beard, out of pure desperation in a drunk moment. It would have been reason for a good laugh under any other circumstances, but it simply deepened the guilt that the king felt and he was glad that the beard could grow back with time. Kili wouldn't have been so lucky, though, had he really cut his ear. It was simply luck that he hadn't.

"Do you feel better, Fili?" Thorin asked, one hand still on the younger's shoulder. Fili nodded vaguely, taking a deep breath and throwing his hair back behind him.

"A little bit," he said, turning to Thorin carefully. "You told me everything I wanted to hear, and I am grateful for that. But there is something you need to know as well, uncle."

The small smile on Thorin's face slowly faded and his heart jumped in his chest. He could feel it on his skin that it was going to hurt, and it was going to be worse than anything he had so far heard.

"About what?" he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer, and Fili looked at him apologetically.

"It's about Bilbo."

And Thorin felt a part of him already tearing up again.

***

The Shire had changed nothing since he last walked its hills. It was even more blissful, more beautiful and more warm than during spring, leaving everyone with the scent of flowers and slowly unclothing trees. Many of the doors were open, families playing in the gardens, small children picking flowers and hiding from each other. Their laughter rang in Thorin's ears, but he couldn't smile. He couldn't laugh, he couldn't be happy for their youth.

All he could do was looking for the certain door he came to knock on, only to find it open just like so many others. He felt his feet rooting into the ground as he stood before the small door that led up to Bag-End, the fence yellow like lemons, just like the wooden bench on the front. It was empty now, and Thorin swallowed hard.

"I can't go inside," Thorin whispered, his scared voice almost lost in the laughter of the children. Many were staring at them, two dwarves in the middle of the Shire with ponies that were so unusual around here, but the said dwarves didn't care. Fili seemed equally as anxious as Thorin, standing right next to his uncle like a statue.

"Neither can I," he answered, and their eyes met as they turned their heads.

It was ridiculous, two grown dwarves not being brave enough to face two hobbits. The realisation hit Thorin like a huge stone in the head, and he took the first step, crossing the doorstep of the gateway heavily. Fili eventually followed, walking in the tail of his uncle closely. Thorin could see nothing so far as he leaned down to peek into the house, only the long and wide corridors and a few chests on the floor. Bag-End was immaculate and spotless as always, and it made Thorin's heart beat even faster.

Every word his sister-son told him echoed in his head, a torturing repeat that he couldn't turn off, and before he could've thought twice, he knocked gently on the doorframe.

"I feel like we have done this before," Fili muttered, but Thorin couldn't even hear him. He had his eyes glued to the same point, at the same girl who approached from the right and only the king could see her. She had her hand before her mouth, her eyes wide like moons, and once she reached the doorstep, Thorin could hear Fili catching his breath.

For a moment, Rose couldn't decide who she should've been staring at. Should it have been Fili with his hopeful, love-filled expression and bright eyes, her Fili who Rose couldn't forget about, not even for a second? Or should it have been Thorin who the last time when Rose saw him was lying motionlessly in a vault under his mountain, with Orcrist on his chest, ready to rest for long ages to come? The latter was completely shocking, but it was both that equally made her feel like fainting.

After the minute that passed in complete silence, Thorin should've seen the punch coming. It was hard against his jaw, but he was already in a better condition so he didn't fall back and landed between two bushes. Fili held him by his arm protectively, keeping a careful eye on Rose who had already started crying but still didn't say a word. Thorin massaged his jaw in silence, breathing in and out heavily until the girl finally broke and rushed forwards to hug him, so tightly that he could barely breathe.

"Did it hurt?" she asked, her voice barely audible against his shoulder and muffled with crying. Thorin felt a weak smile tugging at his lips, but he just shook his head slightly.

"No, I am already used to it."

Rose chuckled gently, letting the dwarf king go and wiping her face. Fili stepped forward towards her, but Rose only took his hand, her eyes still lingering on Thorin's face.

"Go up the corridor, turn to your right and he is in the first room on your left," she said, her voice silent and trembling. Thorin felt his heart skip a beat again, but he just nodded with a grateful glance and entered Bag-End, leaving his sister-son and his beloved behind.

From the voices Thorin could tell they had their reunion as well. The king smiled, then stopped eavesdropping and walked up the corridor silently.

He could hear nothing besides his own heartbeat and the words of Fili in his head. The moment he stayed alone he kept hearing it, everything the younger dwarf said being burnt into his memory like a mark that didn't want to fade. By the time he turned to his right at the first corner and laid his eyes on the open door to his left, his mind was barely functioning, and he entertained the thought of turning back and never coming here again.

Then, Fili spoke in his ears again, the same words everytime.

_He had an accident, uncle. In Mirkwood. Gandalf, Rose and Bilbo were attacked by spiders and... Bilbo went to protect Rose._

He took a step towards the door, then two and then three, and he closed his eyes as he stopped on the doorstep, not feeling brave enough to open them just yet. He heard the steady breathing of the hobbit from the other side of the room, but nothing else.

_He got injured._

Thorin opened his eyes and his lips parted ever so slightly.

_He was blinded._

There sat the hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo Baggins and Belladonna Took in a carved armchair, rocking himself back and forth with his feet. He was in good colour, obviously thanks to staying a lot in the sun. He wasn't thin, he wasn't pale, his hair was the same honey coloured and curly as Thorin last remembered seeing it. He wore a scarlet vest, beautiful and clean, with a white shirt underneath and brown trousers. His feet were naked as always, his face blissful and free of that nasty scar he had earlier, his eyes closed, the sun setting the shadow of his long eyelashes on his cheeks.

And then, Thorin noticed.

Around the halfling's wrist, a faded, colourless piece of cloth, achingly familiar and making Thorin breathless. He stared until his whole vision narrowed under that very spot, and his heart all but tried to escape his chest it beated so rapidly.

It was the cloth that tied them together after escaping Thranduil's Halls. The cloth Thorin held with himself and then lost after kissing the halfling for the first time, the cloth that he tore from his own shirt.

"Hold my hand tightly and you won't be drifted away," Thorin reassured him as he worked on the bound to tie them together, sending a soft smile to the frightened hobbit. Thorin remembered that smile on Bilbo's face vividly as if it had happened only the other day and not more than a year before. He would have never imagined that Bilbo still had that cloth, and he trembled slightly as his legs took him closer.

The nearer he got, the clearer he heard the steady breathing of the hobbit and the barely audible crooning that made Thorin want to smile. He felt like crying instead, and he felt exposed for a moment as the wooden floor made a noise under his feet, but he was thankful for it afterwards. The hobbit sat up with caution, his eyes snapping open and looking at the dwarf's direction, yet, not quite at him.

"Who is there?" he asked, listening eagerly. One simple question was enough to completely shatter Thorin's heart, and he could feel tears brimming in his eyes as he took the remaining steps and slowly knelt down. The eyes of the hobbit had lost their hazel colour, confusion and the tiniest bit of fear sitting deep inside them, and Thorin wondered how would it have been the best to make his innocent intentions clear.

He couldn't stop staring at that beautiful face he just wanted to hold on his chest again, to wrap that small body in his embrace and never let him go, but he didn't want to scare him. He needed to come up with a soft touch, somewhere subtle and meaningful.

He chose his hand.

It was resting on the arm of his chair, and Thorin gently laid his palm on the top of the hobbit's hand, his own trembling but warm enough to not be uncomfortable. Bilbo jumped slightly at the touch, knowing exactly where to look all of a sudden, and Thorin felt mesmerized. The halfling's hand moved under his, switching places and then moving Thorin's palm into his lap, following the lines on his skin slowly. Thorin smiled sadly, waiting until the shock on the hobbit's face was answer enough so he wouldn't have to speak.

Then, the hobbit removed his hands from Thorin's and rose to his face, cupping his cheeks from both side. One hand caressed his beard gently, following the line of his hurting jaw while the other stayed where it was, his thumb stroking under his right eye, then his brow and his lashes. Thorin leaned into the touch, a soft sigh escaping his lips. He longed for this touch for what felt like a lifetime, yet, he didn't dare touch the hobbit. Not until the halfling made it perfectly clear that he knew whose face he was palming, caressing with the gentlest touches.

"It is you," the hobbit whispered and Thorin opened his eyes, only to see tears streaming down on that beautiful, perfect face that he adored so much. Thorin didn't even realise his own teardrops were wetting his face for minutes now, for he didn't feel sobs breaking out of him. It was silent weeping, a mixture of guilt and utter joy, and so many other feelings he couldn't find a name for. "It is truly you."

Thorin raised his hand, then, softly wiping the tear-streaked cheek of his beloved and giving him a smile that Bilbo couldn't see.

"It is you and I can't see you," Bilbo let out a choked sob, shaking too violently to sit straight for any longer and he pulled Thorin's head closer, touching his forehead to the dwarf's. And Thorin let him, breathing in the scent of the hobbit over and over again, touching the tip of his nose to Bilbo's and wrapping his arms around him.

"I am here now," the king whispered, his lips moving at the corner of Bilbo's mouth, breathing in the same air the hobbit exhaled.

He could've never forgiven himself had he turned back when the thought occured to him. Now, though, he saw hope for forgiveness.

Because in the arms of Bilbo Baggins, he could think of nothing that would be impossible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I am back from Croatia! YAY! I had so much fun I didn't really want to come back, but everything ends once.
> 
> My fic ends today, too.
> 
> I just wanted to tell that this chapter is probably one of my favourites, and yes, I know I'm cruel. A pure fluffy happy ending is not my cup of tea, so I had to come up with something and I chose this. I hope you don't hate me, though. (Too much.)
> 
> Now go and read the Epilogue, guys! Short but satisfying, somewhat. :'3


	21. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of the fanfiction. I have uploaded two chapters today, so if you haven't read chapter 20 then read that first!

A hobbit and a dwarf were lying on the bed in the royal chamber of Erebor, dark already owning the whole room and wrapping it in the dim light of torches only. Both of them breathed steadily, while only one of them was asleep. The other, King under the Mountain was watching him carefully, his fingers delicately following the curves of the smaller one's locks. It placed a tingling sensation in the dwarf's fingertip, and a smile formed on his lips.

He could've wished for nothing more than having the hobbit beside him, knowing he was well and dreaming of beautiful places. Thorin couldn't dream and he couldn't sleep, but it was quite all right. He didn't want to close his eyes, not even for a second, while his halfling lay next to him.

"I might not be able to see you, but I can feel when you are staring," Bilbo Baggins murmured, earning a surprised look from the king. The hobbit smiled, shifting closer to the disclosed king and burying his face in his chest with a deep sigh. "I was thinking about something."

Thorin decided to keep lying in one place, trying to forget about the short lived embarassment he felt for staring at the sleeping hobbit and successfully waking him.

"Hm?"

"I think the enchantment of the Valar wore off," Bilbo said, his voice silent and muffled against the bare chest of the king. His breath tickled the dwarf's skin but he just smiled, running his fingers through the locks again and again gently.

"No more burning indeed," Thorin noted and Bilbo made a surprised sound. He wrapped one arm around Thorin's waist, entwining their legs in a tangle. "Do you miss it maybe?"

"A little," Bilbo mused, making Thorin pull away slightly and making a bewildered face. Bilbo grinned, and Thorin chuckled with confusion.

"Why would you miss it?"

"Because I knew if you were too far and I knew when to start worrying," Bilbo answered, pulling Thorin back so he could curl up against him once again. Thorin felt his heart quickening at the words of the hobbit, and he was wondering for a second, trying not to let his mind roam in the memories of the bitter past. Those days were gone, and he finally had the chance to replace them with new, better memories. More beautiful, more peaceful, more loving.

He shifted even closer to the hobbit, burying his face in the abundance of hair and smiling against Bilbo's head.

"I won't go where you can't follow," he promised, so silently that for a moment he worried his hobbit couldn't hear him. But then, he felt a smile against his chest and he knew Bilbo understood him perfectly.

"That's what I thought."

  
 _**FIN** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go, this is the end. I would like to thank everyone for being here with me and inspiring me and writing reviews and giving kudos. You were a fantastic audience and I hope you will join me in my other fanfics very soon.
> 
> I would also love to thank Ivana for reading every single chapter and being my beta, you are the best honey. This fanfiction was mostly written based upon your wonderful headcanons, and I hope you enjoyed the 2 months long ride with me. You are awesome.
> 
>  
> 
> _Watch out for the sequel very soon!_
> 
>  
> 
> Take care, guys! :3


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